Sundae Cinema
by sundaysundaes
Summary: A one-shot archive of various Danny Phantom tales, ranging from fluffy to angsty. Now Playing: Absent :: It had always been inevitable. One way or another, the ultimate evil would still rise to destroy us all...
1. Sundae Cinema

**(Look, guys! Chapter 1 has been reedited to fit into character! Gasp! Why don't you pop on by and take a look?)**_  
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_A/N: Hello and welcome, my dear readers! Here's a few things you might want to know about this one-shot collection—like how they're all mostly random and spawn of my messed-up imagination. Still, if you like 'em, you should adopt one. All of these are up for adoption the moment they're posted. Go nuts. Also, you're gonna wonder about the sometimes-pointless quotes at the beginning of every chapter, too, so I'll summarize it for you: The quotes are challenges (everyone likes a good challenge, right?) for whoever may want to continue the story. Basically, if you feel like taking one of my shots and turning it into a story, you can do the challenge of having it fit its respective quote__—_if you want to; I don't force anyone to do these things. And I'll give you something if you complete the challenge. Don't know what yet, but it'll be a great big SOMETHING. Just message me (review, PM, e-mail) about taking the story as your own, and I won't say no! :D

_Also, if I absolutely can't help it or if you guys decide to do something really evil involving lynch mobs and pitchforks to me, I might actually continue some of these myself. People just have to tell me to do it. The death threats scare me, though, so try to keep those to a minimum, 'kay?  
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_Blanket Disclaimer: I'll say it once and only once. I don't own Danny Phantom. Butch Hartman, Nickelodeon, and Viacom do._

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Shooting Log:

1. _Sundae Cinema:_ It's movie time! A new theater just opened in town, but there's a catch. It's haunted. But by who?_  
AU. Genre:_ General_._

2. _The Red Climb:_ Climbing a rope in gym was common routine. Secret exposure... not so common.  
_Genre:_ General, Minor Suspense.

3. _Broken Mirror:_ An introspective look into the life of Sidney Poindexter.  
_Genre:_ General.

4. _A Jack Fenton Oops Moment:_ An unexpected field trip and the newest Fenton invention is just _begging_ for trouble.  
_Genre:_ Humor, General.

5. _Graveside:_ It doesn't really matter that there is no explanation. As long as they're together, it all works out in the end.  
_Genre:_ (Teenage) Angst, Romance. _Warning for first-person._

6. _Command:_ Dash never thought Fenton could do _that_...  
_Genre:_ Suspense, General.

7. _Popping Bubbles:_ Trapped and for the entire world to see. Life sucks sometimes.  
_Genre:_ Suspense, Angst.

8. _Father and Son:_ Vlad's dreams are finally coming true. And life can only get worse from there.  
_Major OOC! Genre:_ Drama, Family.

9. _Phoenix:_ The world is burning, and there's no hero to help us rise from the ashes.  
_Genre:_ General. _Warning for confusion._

10. _Your Biggest Fan:_ Obsessions rule humans just as much as ghosts.  
_Genre:_ Drama, Minor Horror. _Warning for semi-tragic ending. Not really. Sorta._

11. _Betrayal:_ When the betrayal of a best friend and two years of incarceration, drive you to do things you never thought you'd do.  
_Major (and minor) OOC. Genre:_ Horror, Supernatural. _Warning for my first attempt at second person and craziness—and not the humor kind._

12. _Letters:_ Death is hard for everyone. It's even harder for a five-year-old that doesn't quite understand what it is.  
_Genre:_ Family, Angst, Semi-Tragedy. _Warning for possible tear-inflicter._

13. _Puddles:_ Being dead sucks. Being dead and your killers being the only people that can see you, sucks more. All of that plus trying to make amends, sucks the hardest.  
_First Person. Genre:_ Humor, General.

14. _Future Blossoms:_ Ariel Fenton loved her father. There was no doubt about it. But, seriously? She had to rescue him from the _Guys in White_? And in the past, no less!  
_Genre:_ Humor, Adventure/Action, General. _OC Warning._

15._ Operation AID:_ Every mission has a catalyst, a reason for being created. And although he would later hate it, this was his._  
Genre:_ Action/Adventure, General. _Fluff. Lots of fluff_.

16. _Caught on Tape:_ A secret identity's a real bother, especially when there's such a thing security cameras to watch your every move._  
Genre:_ Drama, Minor Angst_._

17._ Away from Home:_ He never wanted to go back, not after all the tragedy he'd left behind. But, oh, did he miss them, so, _so_ much...  
_Genre:_ Tragedy, Hurt/Comfort, Angst.

18. _Continuum:_ He is the Master of Time. She is the Mistress of Space. One cannot exist without the other, or risk eternal destruction.  
_Genre:_ Friendship, General. _OC Warning._

19. _Of Red Bullets:_ Sometimes, there's nothing better than just playing an old-fashioned game of dodge ball. Oh, the joy.  
_Genre:_ Humor, Minor Action, General. _Post PP._

20. _Sly World:_ Don't let that cuddly face fool you. Foxes aren't only smarter than they look, maybe they're after world domination too.  
_Genre:_ General, Very Minor Humor. _Pre-PP._

21. _Absent:_ It had always been inevitable. It didn't matter that he was still partly human, he'd still become the ultimate evil.  
_AU. Genre:_ Suspense, Drama.

22. Coming Soon in the New Year...

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_My plan is to have a theater in some small town or something, and I'll be the manager. I'll be the crazy, old movie guy!  
**~ Quentin Tarantino**_

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**Sundae Cinema**

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"Okay, I get that you're into the spooky and creepy stuff, Sam, but you've gotta be kidding me."

Sam rolled her eyes, shoving the techno-geek past the revolving doors. "Oh, cry me a river, Tuck. You know it'll be fun."

Tucker looked at her, then behind him to his other friend. "Dude, tell your girlfriend she's crazy, would you?"

Danny, unlike Sam (who looked ready to explode in anger at the word 'girlfriend'), gave a tiny smile and chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "She's not my girlfriend," he said quietly, then, not even trying to catch the Goth girl's eye, turned back to studying the theater's south wall's color pattern like if it was a great painting.

"Why do I even try?" Tucker muttered. Shaking his head, he turned back to Sam as she payed for all of their tickets. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm sure you've heard the stories of this place," he told her. "It's probably the only reason you'd want to come."

"Duh," Sam responded, smirking, starting to lead the boys to the snack counter. "A haunted theater sounds like the perfect place for a ghost attack, don't you think?"

Both bickering friends missed Danny's silent smile at her choice of words.

Tucker snorted, stepping forward to order his snacks. "Geez, Sam," he mocked, "I thought you would've stopped believing in those stupid ghost stories by now." He took his popcorn and drink, fishing into his pocket to hand the money over to the greyish-looking vendor. "Didn't your weird little cousins tell you them or something?"

Sam raised a dark brow at him. "Maybe," she admitted after a second. "Doesn't make it any less interesting."

"Only you would find this stuff interesting." He took a sip of drink, wrinkling his nose as he thought. "You know, usually _you're_ the one telling me things about how I should or shouldn't act. I feel like my mom now_—_gross."

Danny chuckled as Sam huffed, stalking off in faux-anger. "I didn't force you to come, you know," she said over her shoulder.

Tucker elbowed Danny, making the pale boy smile lightly. "No, but there's nothing better to do, right, Dan?"

Danny didn't respond, just shook his head again and followed after Sam. It wasn't long until Tucker was following, too, munching on his popcorn loudly. Soon, both he and Danny reached Sam again.

She gave them a superior look but didn't say anything, continuing to walk silently (aside from Tucker's loud chewing) until they reached their screen. Sam handed the tickets to the Ticket Taker, watching in bemusement as the also-greyish man stared at the tiny slips of paper for a full second, then ripped them in half, dumped the remains in a tub next to him, and muttered a bored, "Enjoy your movie."

"Ooh, the atmosphere is so exciting in here!"

"Shut up, Tucker."

The trio walked into the darkly-lit room, scanning it before deciding on some top seats. As they climbed, the previews glowing on the screen behind them, Tucker whispered, "What movie are we watching anyway? You never told me."

Sam glanced at him, beginning to scoot her way into the row of seats. She spared Tucker a dry look as he crab-walked to his own seat in an attempt not to drop his precious snacks before answering him. "It's just something about this ghost boy."

Both Tucker's and Danny's eyes snapped to her, but she didn't have enough time interpret Danny's look before Tucker spoke, breaking the spell and having Danny's face fall back into a peaceful, indifferent smile.

"You've got to be kidding me," Tucker exclaimed loudly, earning many rude stares. "_More_ ghosts?"

Sam's eyes went from Danny's face to Tucker, and she frowned, annoyed. "All the reviews say it's pretty awesome," she argued, glaring. "A lot of people really seem to like this ghost boy. Some even say it's award-worthy."

Tucker huffed into his seat. "Oh, yeah, because I always hear about ghost movies when I see the Academy Awards." He jammed a fist-full of popcorn into his mouth and then pulled out his PDA. "Maybe I can beat my record in _Doomed_ while you watch this stupid thing."

Sam smacked the PDA out of his hand. "Humor me," she said simply, watching as the techno-geek scrambled to fetch his beloved technology without spilling his snacks. When he was back in his seat (and after murmuring affectionately to the darn thing for a few seconds and apologizing to it), Sam continued, "Just give it a chance."

Tucker looked at her, pouting, but eventually did pocket his PDA with a sigh. "A _chance_," he repeated grudgingly. "_One_ chance. Singular."

"That's all I ask. And, hey, it's starting."

"I can _see_ that, you know. I'm not blind."

"Whatever you say, four-eyes." Ignoring the boy's protest and grumblings, Sam turned to her left, where Danny was calmly gazing at the screen. She elbowed him lightly, catching his attention, and whispered, "You're going to like it. I promise."

Danny nodded, smiling. "I know," he whispered back, earning himself a smile from the Goth.

When she turned back around to face the screen, his small smile grew, turning into a sinister grin. For a moment—one tiny second—his eyes were no longer a soft baby blue. Instead, they flashed a very strange neon green. But as soon as the color was there, it was gone, with no one to bare it witness.

Even so, the three teens looked up—two blissfully unaware for what was to come—as the opening credits started to roll and the curtains opened to reveal the debut of Sundae Cinema. It was promising to be one trip to the theater they'd be _dying_ to experience...

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_An opening Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._

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_Enjoy the rest of the movies!_  
_Review._


	2. The Red Climb

_A/N: Adoption and challenge_—_don't forget it.  
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_No snowflake in an avalanche ever feels responsible._**_  
~ Voltaire_**

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**The Red Climb**

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"Fenton!"

Danny grimaced, peeking at Coach Teslaff with an innocent expression. "Yes?"

She glared at the sixteen-year-old, her lips pulling into a sneer as she pointed haphazardly towards the rope dangling in the middle of the gym. "It's your turn," she stated simply. Her foot started to tap as the teen wasted another second just standing there and staring. "Well?"

His shoulder's slumped as he started walking. "I'm going, I'm going..."

Sam and Tucker stared after their friend sympathetically, knowing how much he hated having to do these tests of physical prowess. It wasn't so much that he couldn't do it; as a matter of fact, the tests were a cake-walk for him. But he had to _pretend_ like he couldn't do it, grunting and struggling as anyone who was painted as being a weakling would have to. It aggravated the young half-ghost to no end.

Danny stared at the rope with despair, touching the woven strings lightly.

"Go on, Fenturd!" Dash shouted from his spot next to the bleachers. "Or are you such a spineless sapling you can't even climb a stupid rope?"

The fellow jocks and cheerleaders which surrounded the sport's star laughed, setting Danny's frown deeper in his face.

A sharp blow of a whistle cut off the obnoxious guffaws. "Baxter!" Teslaff screeched. "Detention."

Dash groaned, shooting a sharp glare at the residential loser who was finally staring to climb the rope. Fentillina was going to pay for that.

Danny put a foot on the large knot at the base of the rope, heaving himself up with exaggerated force. His hand stretched further as he faked a grunt, debating with himself whether or not he should let go and crash to the mat below. He bit his lip, shaking his head against the thought as he climbed farther, purposefully making his arms and legs quiver with the "effort".

He grunted again, though this time it was at the ridiculousness of the situation. He could have easily climbed the rope in less than a quarter of the time he was going to take now, flying ability and ghostly super-strength aside and be damned—but_ nooo_. He had a secret to protect; he had a guise to keep up, so that no one would ever connect the dots between Danny Fenton—weakling—and Danny Phantom—superhero.

He glared the scoreboard at the middle of gym, his throat already hoarse from all the grunts and groans he'd inflicted upon himself. He hadn't even broken a sweat, completely energized besides the climb and anger.

On ground level, Teslaff nodded appreciatively, looking up at the boy. Maybe Fenton had _some_ physical ability after all...

Halfway up to the roof and a story in air, Danny decided it would just be a waste of time to let himself fall and have to start the climb all over again. He was already five minutes into his little travelings—_way_ too long—and wasn't about to triple that time by _falling_.

He let another grunt escape him as he resumed his climbing.

Then, the walls started to glow a menacing green and a blue wisp of smoke came out of Danny's mouth.

Danny didn't allow himself to think, the screams from below as the students realized there was a ghost only fueling his adrenaline. He pushed the rope backwards, completely dropping his weakling facade, as he built momentum for a liftoff. He swung forwards and then back one more time before he propelled himself forward on the second swing, spinning gracefully in the air as he launched.

Teslaff's jaw dropped, watching her student quite-literally roll in the air. She paled, her breath hitching in her throat, as she saw Danny was about to ram directly into the wall.

He saw it coming, though, twisting midair so that his feet took the hit and he started falling to the ground, headfirst. Setting his jaw, he stuck his hands out, cartwheeling twice until, midair, he spun around so that he could face whatever ghost it was this time, landing gracefully in a classic fight stance. "Skulker," he growled, seeing the familiar metal body armor floating casually next to the rope.

By this time, the entire student body in third-period gym was staring, mouth-agape, at Danny and the glowing ghost. All their thoughts echoed the same:_ Since when had Fenton, weak loser, learned to do that?_

"Whelp," Skulker started, aiming his wrist weapon at Danny, "it's time your pelt hung above my fireplace."

"Oh, you wis—" His eyes widened, catching sight of his fellow classmates for the first time as they stared at him. He lowered his arms and face-palmed. "Ah, crud."

There was a shriek and the buzz of metal whizzing in the air. Danny looked up, barely managing to fling himself to the floor as he dodged a small missile. It exploded behind him, messing his hair up and leaving a black, circular scorch mark on the wooden floor.

He narrowed his eyes, slipping back into the fight stance easily. He could explain all of this later—as in, _after_ he dealt with the maniacal ghost obsessed with skinning him and having his pelt as a trophy.

"Tucker!" he shouted, eying the robotic ghost as it came closer. "Get the thermos out of my backpack!" Glancing behind Skulker's looming figure, he saw Tucker start to run towards the locker rooms.

Skulker landed in front of Danny, producing twin glowing-green machetes from his wrists. He smiled menacingly and took a step forward.

"Uh, and _hurry!_" Danny called after his best friend, hoping he'd heard his last plea. Without his ghost powers, it was going to be infinitely harder to beat Skulker—especially with those _knives_.

Skulker took a swipe at him, sending him cartwheeling backwards as he dodged. "I've got you now, whelp."

Danny gulped, casting a wayward glance at the students that continued to stare at him. "Can't we just talk about this?"

The ghost smiled, raising the right blade above his head. "No."

The resounding scream that expelled from the teenager's lips as the knife cut into the soft flesh of his arm was enough to have Teslaff cover her ears and cringe.

Danny grabbed his arm, hissing in pain, not noticing when a small bomb slipped under his feet. It exploded, red smoke encircling the boy as he tried to step away from it, reminding himself not to inhale any of the fumes.

But it was too late; some of it had already gotten into his system.

Immediately, his eyes started to water and his body went limp. He was out cold by the time he hit on the floor.

Skulker smirked—_too easy_—and called back the machetes, grabbing Danny by the collar and slinking him over his shoulder._ I win._

As the smoke started to recede, Tucker chose that moment to make an appearance, his eyes widening as he saw his friend had actually been captured. Shaking his head, he pointed the thermos at the ghost. "Hey, Skulker!"

The ghost turned his head curiously, already floating a few feet from the floor as he carried away his prize.

Tucker popped the top and sucked Skulker into the thermos in a wave of blue flashing light. "You lose."

Danny fell to the floor with a _thud_, causing all of the class to flinch at the sound.

Sam and Tucker approached his body cautiously, tendering each step so that his sensitive nerves wouldn't feel the landings.

The second side effect of the red smoke decided to take affect just then. Two white rings appeared around Danny's waist, climbing up and down his unconscious form as he transformed into the resident teen ghost-hero of Amity Park.

The entire crowd which had assembled around him gasped.

"Well, shoot."

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_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._

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_Review._


	3. Broken Mirror

_A/N: Found this document. Decided to post it, but I think it's blah.__  
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_You can tell a lot about a fellow's character by his way of eating jellybeans._  
**_~ Ronald Reagan_**

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**Broken Mirror**

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Sidney Poindexter reached inside locker 724—the same one he'd had for some fifty-ish years—and pulled out an English book, the same one he always got out. He sighed, frowning as he looked at the broken mirror which hung in his locker. It hadn't been broken two years ago, before he'd met the still-recent halfa. But there had been a struggle, and Danny had ended up breaking the mirror so Poindexter could never escape again.

If he was being honest, Poindexter would agree with what Danny had done—he'd stolen his life from him, after all—but he didn't like the feeling it gave him admitting that; it sounded as if he had _bullied_ him.

Poindexter shook his head. He _hated_ that word or anything having to do with it.

But with the memories of his first encounter with Danny Phantom, he felt a wave of gratitude, if not a bit of annoyance.

Because they had been inhabiting different bodies, it had looked as if Poindexter had taken on the halfa and won—when in reality, Danny had just tricked him into giving him back his own body. But the '50s students of Poindexter's Casper High didn't know that; it had really looked like Sidney had fought Danny.

Soon after that event, things changed for Sidney Poindexter. Everyone which had ever bullied him—which really was _everyone_—suddenly wanted to be his friend, be on his good side. He finally had the life he had only ever dreamed of having—one of popularity.

It was many months later, when Danny had already saved the world countless times and revealed his identity, that the popularity started to wear thin.

The same routine appeared constantly. Lauren would walk with him to all his classes, Bill and the guys would let him join in on a game of hoops, they would all catch a matinee movie premiere, and the next week the cycle would begin again.

Poindexter thought it wouldn't be as horrible if there was some variety to what they did—different outcomes to different situations—but it was always the same. Every Saturday they would watch the same horror movie—_The Haunted Sky_, a movie Poindexter never got the chance to see when he was human because he had felt embarrassed to go without friends; but after seeing it so many times (and being a ghost himself), Poindexter hated its cliches, its over-acted scenes, its creepy music, hated just the pure _essence_ of it.

Other things, too, tortured him now. He'd never had time to notice before, what with being constantly worried about getting a wedgie or being stuffed in his locker, that the curriculum never changed. Every year, it recycled itself and Sidney would have to endure his freshman year from the very beginning.

There was no surprise to the school anymore, because everything simply _repeated_ itself, over and over again.

He would sit sometimes, when he could escape the grasps of his instant popularity and his Biology teacher would lecture about something he'd (literally) heard dozens of times before, and wonder of how he had come to be—and how this thought had never occurred to him before.

Two weeks ago, with a sudden start of alarm and fear, he realized he couldn't _remember _his human life—or how he had died. His memory went blank after his first year of high school and simply recycled itself. Another thing he couldn't remember was his parents or where or how they were.

Sidney Poindexter had no life that he could remember. The practically-palpable irony of the situation was not lost to him.

Maybe his torment during his freshman year had been so intense, so much greater than he originally perceived as he was experiencing it, that it had consumed his entire adult life. Who knew if he'd grown up to have kids or to make something of himself; all that echoed in his thoughts was those years of being bullied in high school. It didn't matter if he had a wife or was the manager of some company; _he'd been bullied._

And, Poindexter thought, because of those _bullies_, he couldn't even remember the event that had sent him—or condemned him—to a Ghost Zone rendition of Casper High School, to forever relive that _one year_ that haunted his life.

He'd tried to remember what year he had first appeared in the Ghost Zone, what year he had started haunting locker 724, to give him some clue as to when he died. _But he couldn't remember!_

This realization, stacked upon all the others he had made since Danny Phantom had touched his life, drove him to near madness. Poindexter dealt with this madness as best he could for two weeks, until time caught up with him and he currently stared at the cracked mirror at the end of his locker as he reached for his English book.

His right hand balled into fist and he was suddenly so _angry_ that he felt like punching something—a completely new feeling which exhilarated yet frightened Sidney.

It took him a few minutes after the tardy bell for class rang, for Sidney to be able to control himself. He wasn't going to bust his locker now that he was calm, but as he stared at his broken reflection in the mirror he so much wished it wasn't broken.

As if answering his silent plea, the broken remains of the mirror started to glow a ghostly green.

Sidney Poindexter, startled at first but slowly realizing what was happening, smiled wickedly as a plan materialized in his mind.

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_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._

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_Review._


	4. A Jack Fenton Oops Moment

_A/N: Pointless. Horrible. I want you to read it anyway.  
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_Every sweet has its sour; every evil, its good._  
**_~ Ralph Waldo Emerson_**

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**A Jack Fenton _Oops_ Moment**

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As he slipped into class, Danny groaned at the words written on the whiteboard: "Field trip to FentonWorks today."

He'd been wondering why his parents were acting so strange that morning, with sideways glances and smothered snickers; but he'd been too busy taking care of the Box Ghost's latest attempts to take over the world with the help of his trusty bubble wrap that he hadn't had time to think about it.

Sam walked in behind Danny, snickering when she read the message for the class. "This is going to be an interesting day."

Danny frowned at his friend, looking at her crossly. "Oh, yeah, it's going to go just swell."

"Think you were a little too heavy on the sarcasm there, dude," Tucker replied, finally entering the room. "Why so bummed?"

Danny pointed to the board, dragging his feet to his desk as he buried his head in his arms.

Tucker giggled—both from the classroom news and Danny's reaction—but placed a hand on Danny's shoulder. "Aw, come on. It can't be that bad."

"Great," came Danny's muffled reply. "Now you jinxed it."

Sam rolled her eyes, opting not to say anything as she took her seat. Danny was just being melodramatic, as she saw it. Nothing horrible was going to happen, unless—Sam grimaced—the class was forced to eat Mrs. Fenton's cooking.

Danny kept his head down, not enjoying the following minutes that would occur as the rest of the class descended onto the classroom.

"So Fentillina," Dash started, having already read the board and shoving Danny's shoulder, "party at your place?"

Danny managed an unceremonious "Go away."

Mr. Lancer walked into class just then, though, and called everyone to attention, saving Danny from a more forceful shove from the quarterback of the football team.

"I'm sure as all of you have read," Mr. Lancer said, "we'll be taking a little trip to FentonWorks today, better known by you youngsters as Daniel Fenton's—" he took out a copy of _How to be Hip, for the UnHip_ "—pad."

Cricket noises could almost be heard as most of the class blinked and coughed at the awkwardness in the room; Danny wished that he could just turn invisible without calling attention to himself.

Mr. Lancer—too little too late—realized he had silenced the class in his attempt to be hip (again). He cleared his throat and continued, "The reason for this recess from learning, is to educate you poor, defenseless children on ghost safety."

"Poor?" Valerie muttered crossly.

"Defenseless?" Sam murmured.

"The buses are waiting outside, so if everyone could please follow me," Lancer ended, heading out of the room.

Lazily, the entire class got up from their seats and made their way to the buses. It took a few shoves by Sam to get Danny to leave his seat, but he eventually lamented and let himself be dragged off to a day of embarrassment.

The bus ride to FentonWorks was short and uneventful, aside from a few snide remarks and a very pale-looking halfa.

As they exited the vehicle, Danny was practically twitching from his nerves.

To get him to snap out of it, Sam exclaimed, "That's it!" and punched Danny in the shoulder.

He rubbed the place where Sam had hit him, muttering, "That actually hurt."

Tucker rolled his eyes. "Sure, he can take an ecto-blast like it's nothing, but when Sam hits him—quick, call an ambulance!"

Danny frowned, and opened his mouth for a comeback.

But out of the blue, before Mr. Lancer even had a chance to knock, Jack Fenton opened the door, smiling ear to ear.

"Are you kids ready to learn to fight some ghosts?" he asked excitedly.

"Now, Jack," Maddie said from behind her husband, "don't frighten them." She stepped around him and motioned everyone inside. "If you'll just follow me, we'll get right down to the Fenton laboratory."

Danny allowed himself a small smile—so far, so good. But just as he thought this, his mother finally seemed to notice him.

"Oh, hi, hon!" she cooed, taking off the head of the jumpsuit to look at Danny. "I didn't know you were part of the first group. Now we have a volunteer!"

"Great," Danny tried to say with the least amount enthusiasm he could muster, letting his face fall into a deep frown as his parents continued to lead the class down to the basement.

For the first few minutes, Maddie explained some lab safety, which mostly consisted of "Don't touch _anything_." Jack, bored by all the talking, decided to intervene.

"...So for the safet—"

"And this is the Fenton Portal Shooter!" Jack interrupted, showing the class the newest piece of ghost machinery he was working on. "With just the click of this button, it makes a temporary ghost portal appear anywhere I want!"

"Does it work?" Paulina asked nervously, hiding behind Dash and eying the strange-looking machinery.

"Let's find out," Jack replied confidently, aiming the Portal Shooter at the corner of the room.

"I don't think that's a very good idea, Jack," Maddie tried to convince him.

"Fire!"

There was a great big flash of light, causing everyone to shield their eyes. For a second, everyone stood still, scared that any movement might cause some sort of explosion—as was notorious around all Fentons.

Jack peaked from behind his arms and grinned. "Aha! I knew it would work!"

At his outburst, the class unshielded their eyes and stared in awe at the the distorted green, swirling blot at the corner of the room. Everyone, excluding Danny, Sam, and Tucker, went up to Jack to congratulate him, even if the students had no idea what the ghost portal meant.

Danny took a step back and looked at his friends. "Do you guys have a bad feeling about this, too?"

Almost as if on cue, the temporary ghost portal exploded in size, vacuuming air inside of it.

"Who turned on the fan?" Jack asked, causing everyone's attention to turn on the giant portal.

Without another second to spare for an explanation, the ghost portal sucked everyone inside of it, resembling much how Danny usually caught a ghost in the Fenton Thermos. Their wails of fright were almost palpable as some of them tried to hang onto some object to save them from being sucked into the Ghost Zone; but their attempts were futile.

They all groaned as they hit some hard, stony ground—one of the many giant platforms that floated around the Ghost Zone.

Danny, the first to recover from the horrible landing, watched in horror as the ghost portal disintegrated into nothing, leaving them stuck.

Slowly, as everyone started to take in their surroundings and realize their tragic predicament, Jack laughed nervously.

"I guess I should of mentioned that the Fenton Portal Shooter sucked any living creature into the Ghost Zone."

Mr. Lancer stared at Jack, reflecting his student's emotions. "_My Sister's Keeper_! Are you saying we're _stuck_?"

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_A (very lame) Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._

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_Review._


	5. Graveside

_A/N: I decided to try my hand at some fluffy, pointless romance. FAIL. I'll just go repeatedly smack my face against the wall now... _

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_"Control your poison, babe. Roses have thorns, they say."_  
_~ **Lady GaGa**  
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**Graveside  
**

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My hand flies to my mouth, unsure. _Did that just happen?_ I have ask myself silently, unable to believe it. My eyes snap up to his face, looking for some type of clue. "Did—did we... just...?" Obviously, the grace of eloquence has left me, leaving me stammering like an idiot as I try to clear the fog from my mind.

He bites his lip, which is slightly swollen; I can't help but wonder if that's of my doing. His green eyes trail somewhere behind me. "I—I don't..." Well, he can't form a coherent sentence either, so at least that's something. He sighs raggedly. "Sam, I just— I couldn't know— You're just so— _Dammit!_" He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, mumbling under his breath. "Nothing's coming out right. _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_"

My hand falls from my face. My fingers twitch as I reach out to cup his chin and force him to look at me. _Get a hold of yourself!_ I want to shout at him, but instead I murmur softly, "Danny, it's okay. Just calm down."

His eyes bore into mine, and I start to feel some of my previous fascination and wonder from just a moment ago start to claw its way back to the surface. I want to reach out, grab a fistful of his hair again, _and_— And what? That's the million-dollar question right there. _What to do?_ Kiss him? Smack him upside the head? Take his shoulders and shake him silly until he admits that he's just as madly in love with me as I am with him?

That last one's tempting, but only because a sick part of me has to be some type of masochist—a masochist probably mixed in with a some wistful romance novelist who still believes in 'happily ever after'.

But there never is a cheesy happy ending in real life. He doesn't feel the same—simple as that. He'd _never_ felt the same. His reaction just now was a testament to that.

He closes his eyes, frustration making his face scrunch together. "I'm sorry, Sam," he finally mumbles, and it could be just me, but it almost sounds as if his voice is near to breaking.

At this point, my own emotions start to get the better of me, no matter how much I try to beat them down. "What?"

"I'm sorry," he says again, opening his eyes to stare remorsefully at me. "I didn't mean to kiss you like that."

"Oh." I mean for that to come out irritated, almost like a huff, but all I manage is a tiny hiccup. I take my hand away from his face, so I can ball it into a tight fist across my chest. The words replay in my mind, machinated and clouded. _I didn't mean to kiss you...  
_

I turn on my heel, fully intent on leaving him there alone. _He hadn't wanted to._

"Wait! Sam!" It seems as if my sudden haste to leave has caught him off-guard.

All I can hear in my own head, though, is:_ He doesn't feel the same._ I'm surprised that the fact still hurts, even after all the times I've repeated it to myself, over and over.

A forceful hand finds its way to my shoulder, trying to pull me back. I shrug it off to continue on my path toward the gate—or, at least, I _attempt_ to shrug him off. It seems I've forgotten that his strength only increases dramatically when he's in ghost mode. He spins me around, almost without effort, holding my shoulders down as I try to twist away from him. Maybe I'm trying to save myself all the embarrassment of heartbreak—gag me—but I don't want to see him.

He tries to lift my chin, but I flinch away from his cold glove.

"Look, Sam," he sighs. "I _am_ sorry and—" He pauses suddenly, making me to wonder what he's just noticed. Maybe it's a ghost. Maybe he'll leave. "Are—are you...," he tries to say instead, "_crying?_"

Crying? Huh. Well, the mortification has certainly just reached a whole new level. Immediately, I reach up to wipe away the evidence from my eyes. "No." It comes out as a squeak, and my voice even cracks, making it all the more obvious how much I'm lying. Stupid emotions.

Danny lets go of my shoulders and puts his hands on my cheeks, gently lifting my head until I'm forced to stare at him.

"What?" I growl, finally managing to put some anger behind my tone. My eyes are starting to overflow again (if the blurry vision is any indicator), and I don't need him seeing my misery right now. The embarrassment aside, I'd rather die than have him worry about another person more than he already does.

I just need to get away—get away from him and his platonic feelings of friendship—so I can think straight again. I need to go back to my veil of confidence and facetious nature, so I can return to him tomorrow and pretend to be content.

He opens his mouth to respond, but closes it half a second later and just stares at me. There's an emotion swimming in his eyes, but I don't look closely enough to identify it.

"Let me go," I grind out, shaking my head as I try to loosen his grasp. A warm tear falls on his glove. He tightens his hold.

"I'm never going to let you go."

I have to raise my eyes to his at that, because I can't really believe the intensity in his voice. Either way, whether I believe it or not, my mouth trembles as I whisper, "Why not?"

He mumbles something I barely catch.

My eyes widen. _Probably have cotton in my ears_, I tell myself, trying to be rational. "What?" I mouth, the air barely pushing past my throat. _No way. Not possible. Not in a million years would he say_—

"I love you, Sam," Danny says again, louder, his eyes closing. His left hand slides down to my throat, leaving his right to gently cup my cheek. I don't shake him off this time, momentarily caught between staring at him in my impersonation of a fish and the urge to slap him across his face. He continues on, oblivious like always, "I should've told you before, but— I mean, it's not like now is the perfect time either. You come here, find me in a stinkin' _graveyard_, and... I don't know." He shakes his head, some of his silvery-white hair falling into his closed eyes. "I shouldn't have kissed you like that. I'm sorry."

_Shouldn't have_... Those two words are so much different than the _'didn't mean to'_ from earlier. I almost feel like laughing, but I just reach up to wipe away the trail of tears from my cheeks and smile. It's still a risk, but my head has finally cleared enough to allow some reason to enter my mind once more. _To hell with it_, I finally just decide.

Tentatively, my fingers touch his lips, and his eyes snap open, surprised. His expression—almost type of wonder—gives me all the confidence I need to go on. "Don't be," I chuckle. "I'm not."

His eyebrows wrinkle together, probably to question my sanity after such a marvelous show of inexplicable emotion. He takes a step forward, almost cautiously, and asks, "You're not?"

"No."

Throwing everything to the wind, I kiss him then, smiling at his slightly shocked response before he starts to kiss me back.

In the distance, the sun starts to rise, sending the graveyard into light. Purple shadows play on us and the gravestones as I wrap my arms around his neck, red and gold leaves falling slowly in the slight breeze. The beautiful scenery goes momentarily unnoticed as he pulls back and smiles widely, pressing his nose against mine playfully.

"I love you, too, Danny," I whisper. When his grin widens in response, I finally give into the temptation, pull away from his arms, and smack him upside the head as hard as I can. He flinches away from me, his eyes wide, crying out. "But tell anyone I was crying, and that little bruise will be the last of your worries," I warn lightly.

It takes him a moment to process what I've just said, but when he does, he pulls me into a hug, grinning from ear to ear. He's shaking from laughter when he replies into my hair, "Yes, ma'am."

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_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._

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_Review._


	6. Command

_A/N: I wrote this some time ago and decided it was time it saw the light of day, since I'm never going to continue it. You can, though. Remember adoption/challenge._

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_"Nothing is as simple as we hope it will be."_  
**_~ Jim_Horning_**

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**Command**

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Dash Baxter walked into Mr. Lancer's English class, carrying himself proudly and above everyone else in the room. After all, who was there in the entire school who could boast about last night's football scores? Who was the only student in all of Casper High that could say without exaggeration—okay, but only a _little bit_ of exaggeration—that their actions had saved the day?

Three steps behind the boastful football star, Danny entered the room, dead-beat tired after stopping Spectra's latest attempts to take over the world last night.

Dash wrinkled his nose at the loser but otherwise ignored him, settling into his seat loudly to flirt back and forth with Paulina. Behind him, Kwan patted him on the back and whispered his congratulations.

But then the bell rang. Dash was forced to turn towards the front of the room as the overweight teacher cleared his throat.

Another cautioned glace at the sport's star and Lancer started his lesson. "I hope all of you finished reading chapters five and six for your test tomor— Daniel Fenton!"

The class seemed to snicker in unison, already used to the reprimand the teacher seemed to repeat daily.

"Huh? What?" Danny said to himself in the back of the room, swiveling his head from side to side as if he was looking for something. As if a loser like him had anything important _to_ look for. "Ghost?"

The people who heard his last statement laughed, already marking off his half-conscious remark as being the weirdo they all knew and hated.

"I do not appreciate you dozing off in my class," Lancer continued, his arms crossed over his chest. "Maybe you'd like to continue your little nap in the principal's office."

Danny shook his head, already slipping back to semi-slumber. "Nah. I'll stay awake."

"You better." The man launched into an exhausted monologue, discussing the controversies of _The Catcher in the Rye_.

Ninety-eight percent of the students stopped listening, staring off into the corners of the room, doodling, or whispering to their friends.

Dash, being the social hub that he was, angled himself to join the conversation Paulina had already started.

"... And Phantom came and saved the day! Wow, he's just so—wow."

Dash wanted to roll his eyes at the girls which sighed with Paulina, but he knew he'd consider himself a hypocrite if he did. Because although he didn't like Phantom in _that_ way—the way only girls liked him—there was still something absurdly cool about him. That was one of the reasons he was his idol. Maybe it was the fact that Phantom solved most of his problems using force—much like Dash did—or maybe it was the simplicity that he fought for good and conquered evil, but Phantom would always be considered Dash's number one.

The fact that he currently sat in the same room with his role model was lost to him, as was to almost everyone.

But then Valerie, who was sitting behind Star, joined into the conversation; which, in itself, was already strange. Valerie hated Phantom.

"Yeah, wow," she interjected, the ire in her voice barely contained. "Wow nothing. Phantom's a menace."

"Geez, Val," Star intoned. "Just because you don't like him, it doesn't mean _we_ can't like him. He's great. He fights all those bad ghosts and always saves the day. Remember last week, when that weird green ghost-thing came and destroyed the Biology rooms? _Who_ was there to take away the ghost? _Who_ cleaned all the mess?"

Valerie grimaced. "Whatever. Has it ever occurred to you that maybe he's fighting all those ghosts just to get stronger?"

"Why would he do that?" Dash questioned softly, interested despite himself.

She looked away, playing with her pencil gently. She mumbled something none of them could hear.

"What?"

Valerie looked back at the four pairs of eyes and glared, angry for having to discuss such obvious things. But it was also the fear, which was evident in her trembling form, that strengthened the glower. "I _said_, he's trying to get stronger so that when he decides to attack the town, no one will be able to stop him."

Silence and bewildered, slightly frightened, expressions greeted the Red Huntress. She didn't want to admit it, especially in a place where no one knew her secret alter-ego, but she knew that when Phantom decided to stop playing his little hero charade, she wouldn't be able to stop him, no matter how hard she tried.

Paulina was the first to respond. "You're crazy. All that time living in a ratty apartment has left you bitter. Phantom would never try to destroy the city." But her voice shook at the end, making her conviction more like a failed attempt at a self-assurance.

Valerie twisted herself away from the four teens, staring out the window distantly. "Just keep telling yourself that."

There was a few moments of loaded silence as the small group of popular students stared at each other. They didn't say a word, but they were all thinking the same thing. _What if she was right? What if Phantom _was_ trying to take over the world and was just tricking everyone into believing otherwise?_

Kwan cleared his throat and smiled, the first to recover from the haunting suspicion. "So how about last night's game?" he said a little too enthusiastically. "By the way, nice job, Dash."

The football star grinned at his best friend, forcing his mind to forget what they had just talked about. "Thanks, man. You were pretty hot on the field yourself."

Slowly, the conversation dwindled into boasts and laughter, as was common around the most popular students of Casper High. Even Paulina, who would usually grow bored of sport talk and move on to her spectral crush, did not make a move to discuss Phantom. It wouldn't be appropriate.

Suddenly, though, there was a blast in the back of the room, causing all conversation to come to a screeching stop as everyone stared at the back in fear.

Lancer swallowed, allowing for some of the smoke to clear before he noticed there was nothing there. "Now, kids," he whispered, edging towards the door, "we're all going to carefully walk out the door, single file—"

The door, which had been casually opened to let in some cool air from the hallway, slammed shut and started to glow red. Startled, Lancer flinched away and yelped, as did most of the students in the front row. A low whir sounded as the window started to glow the same menacing red. Trapped.

"Where are you, whelp?" came an echoing voice from the ceiling. Everyone's heads snapped to the sound, immediately recognizing the specter from the metal body and the many times they had seen it trail after Phantom. "There's no escaping capture this time."

Dash (though he would later deny it) was the first to scream in terror, closely accompanied by most of the class. He jumped from his seat, sprawling to the floor as he accidentally took the desk with him.

Skulker paid him no mind, his scanner picking up a warm—though not as warm as the rest of the bodies in the room—presence in the back. "I've got you now."

The class watched in stunned silence as the ghost approached the sitting body of Danny Fenton, who was quietly scanning through his English book. "S'up, Skulker?" he asked, not even bothering with looking up.

A metallic fist smashed into the desk, causing a small crack to appear and Danny to only glance up in slow boredom. "Don't mock me, child," the ghost screeched. The class cringed at the sound, whimpering softly at the angered ghost.

Dash, carefully protected by the small body of Paulina in front of him, scrunched his eyebrows. _Go on, Fenton,_ he quietly thought, worried despite himself. _Run. Don't be stupid_.

"I _will_ have your pelt as my trophy," Skulker stated quietly, watching (along with the rest of the class) the boy's reaction.

Danny sighed, putting his book down in resignation and getting out of his seat calmly to stand next to the ghost. It was times like these he really hated not having Sam or Tucker in his class. "Do you really want to fight, Skulker?" he growled, his gaze shifting into a glare.

The ghost flinched at the hate simmering in the half-ghost's eyes, sending the class into parallels of confusion. _Was_—_was the ghost _afraid_? Of_ Danny_?_ Skulker seemed to hesitate before finally answering, raising his arm as a gun materialized out if his armor. "Fight or no fight, you will lose, ghost child."

The class gasped, stopping even Valerie (who was quietly sneaking to her backpack to find that ecto-gun she had stuffed in there that morning), as they heard that. Why would Danny be a ghost child?

The halfa's eyes narrowed, his hands balling into fists as he understood the repercussions of having Skulker call him that in front of all these people. "What did you say?" he ground out, taking a step forward, completely ignoring the second-generation gun pointing at his head.

Skulker faltered, his arm slightly falling. "Um, fight?"

For half a second, Danny's eyes started to glow green. He smiled. "Just remember you asked for it."

He launched himself at the ghost, leaving a class full of shocked teenagers and one teacher to stare at the carnage as it started to unfold. _"...D—Danny?"_

_

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_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._

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_

_Review._


	7. Popping Bubbles

_A/N: I really, really want someone to continue this for me! Please? (By the way, thanks to all the reviewers!)  
_

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_"Heroing is one of the shortest-lived professions there is."_  
**_~ Will Rogers_**

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**Popping Bubbles**

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There was something totally ironic in the location they had decided to place his prison. If he hadn't been so tired and his muscles hadn't been aching with flashes of pure white-hot _pain_, then he might have laughed—or maybe even cried.

_City Hall_, Danny rethought for the millionth time that night, shifting to more comfortable position on the cold ground. _How pleasant_.

He stared at the moon through the impenetrable glass of his cage. A tear or two fell from his closing eyes as he fell into a restless sleep, not caring to anticipate what would happen in the morning or the disaster he knew was coming.

* * *

In a strange sort of way, he was unsurprised to see it was the Guys in White who had managed to nab him last night and force him into the weird prison. He _was_ surprised, however, to see the mayor call forth a meeting _right in front of him._ Talk about adding insult to injury.

Mayor Turner smiled, fixing his tie to impeccable perfection as he stepped forward to his podium, stopping the excited chatter of the press and assembled public. "Fellow citizens," he started, motioning passionately to the crowd, "today is a great day."

Danny rolled his eyes, still scrunched in the little ball he had been in since he'd woken up. "Yeah, great," he whispered sarcastically.

"Behind this black curtain," the mayor continued, having not heard Danny's response and indicating with a wide gesture to the curtain that concealed his cage, "is the worst thing that has ever happened to Amity Park. We have trapped it and now it will never escape."

So now he was an _'it'_?

"Without further ado, I'd like to pass the mic over to Agent K of the Guys in White—you know, the secret government organization that's been poking its nose into our town for about a year? Yeah, _that_ one." There was some awkward shuffling until a mountain of a man—why did all of these goons have to look like they'd been injected with steroids?—stepped towards the podium.

"We have captured the infamous Danny Phantom," Agent K stated in a gruff voice, getting straight to the point. There were some startled gasps from the onlookers. "We have contained the ghost in a solid, clear-form of ecto-ribotnuse—" he motioned for one of his comrades to drop the curtain "—there is no escaping _this_."

The silence dragged for two eternities as everyone stared at the trapped ghost inside what looked like a glass bubble—a _giant_ glass bubble, with a _door_. Danny didn't dare look up from his curled position, the shame of having everyone see him like a cornered animal too great. He just _knew_ his parents were in the audience, maybe even Sam and Tucker. It was bad enough that he'd been captured; now, they were showing him off like some freak show.

A light sprinkle of tears appeared in his vision before he blinked them away roughly.

"The reason for the see-through cage is so that the experiments we are planning to make are in full public view."

Danny's head snapped up at that. They were going to _experiment_ on him? In _public?_ He suddenly felt sick to his stomach, last night's supper threatening to spill out as his organs seemed to twist themselves into knots.

"For example," the agent drew out, gesturing towards the bubble with great exaggeration, "watch as my fellow operative, Agent O, restrains the ghost with ectoplasmic-eliminator cuffs."

Danny jumped to his feet, already calculating an escape route when he saw Agent O open the door of his prison. He didn't allow himself to think. He flew at the man, turning intangible so that he would merely phase through him and pass unharmed.

He hadn't counted on him wearing a ghost-repelling suit.

Danny was thrown backwards, landing with a sharp _snap_ on the curved outing of his bubble. Most of the audience flinched at the sound.

"Hold still, specter," Agent O drawled, approaching the teenager's crumpled heap with calculated and steady movements.

Danny instantly recoiled, flying to the top of his prison to put substantial distance between the two. "Get away from me!"

Agent O scowled, pulling at something from his belt to join the glowing handcuffs in his left hand. It was an ecto-gun—a powerful_, painful _looking ecto-gun.

It took twenty-seven shots, half the charge of the gun, and an obvious weariness in Danny before Agent O was able to shoot him down. There was just no place to run.

Danny groaned, struggling to push himself up with shaking limbs.

"Oh no you don't." The government agent quickly pulled Danny up and fastened the cuffs to his wrists.

An acute pang of electricity ran through his system, inciting a deafening scream from the youth as his body convulsed. He pressed his hands to his skull, trying to dull the pain as tears squeezed from his eyes and his shriek died in a chocking mess.

The crowd—which had grown substantially larger since the mayor had fist called the meeting—stared in sympathy at the young ghost. Some even had to look away, tears collecting in their eyes. Others were already protesting the capture of Phantom, livid that a government which was meant to protect them was doing _that_—and to a child, no less. Yet another, smaller group of people watched in sick fascination as the ghost was being tortured; it needn't be said that among that group were Maddie and Jack Fenton.

There was a painfully long second that passed before the twitches of electricity stopped, and Danny was able to withstand the pain as it subsided into a dull roar. Trembling, gasping for breath, the trail of tears still visible on his pale cheeks, he stood up and glared at the Moron in White.

Agent O gasped, his hand trailing to his mouth as his eyes widened exponentially. Those who were near enough to see, gasped with him.

Phantom's eyes, previously a sharp, electric, _ghostly_ green, were now a sweet, icy, _totally-human_ blue.

"Y-your _eyes_," the agent emphasized, backpedaling instinctively. "T-they're _blue_."

For half a moment, Danny forgot himself. "Well, duh, of course they're _blue_," he scoffed, trailing a lazy hand through his silvery-white hair, wincing as a pain ripped through his abdomen. "I was _born_ with blue eyes. It's not like they're going to be green, like when I'm Phan—" The world seemed to snap back into focus. "Oh. Right."

"Explain."

"I...uh...sort of _can't_."

Agent O frowned, something close to anger flashing in his sunglasses-covered eyes. He took a forward and aimed his ecto-gun at the shaking ghost, determined to make sure he didn't escape. "Agent W," he called out, motioning for one of his fellow suit-wearing comrades, "fetch me the truth syndrome." He glanced at the ghost, smiling. "We're going to _make you_ tell us the truth."

Danny couldn't help his shudder. (_Truth?_ As in, the _whole_ truth?) This situation didn't seem nearly as laughable as it had appeared last night.

He didn't even try to escape past the gun or goons, knowing he'd never make it out the door without his powers. It was a hopeless cause.

Agent W, armed with what looked like a regular, _huge_ pistol, handed Agent O the gun before walking out silently.

"This might hurt—just a tad."

Danny barely had time to register a dart flying in his direction, before a sharp pain exploded in his shoulder. He yelped, trying to reach out to dislodge the obstruction.

But darkness clouded his vision, turning his resolve into mush as two strong arms picked him up...

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"We'll start out with easy questions first. Is that alright?"

"Yes."

"Are you a human?"

He told the truth. He _had_ to. "Yes."

"W—what?"

"Me. Human."

"Yeah, _right_. Aren't you a ghost?"

"Yes."

"So you're a ghost _and_ a human?"

"Yes."

"How is that possible?"

"Halfa."

"What's that?"

"Halfa," he repeated.

"Alright, fine, don't answer. Next question. What's your full, _real_ name?"

"Daniel James Fenton."

Somewhere in the crowd of onlookers that watched as Agent O questioned Danny, there were two, shocked screams.

_Mom. Dad._

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_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._

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_Review._


	8. Father & Son

_A/N: WARNING: Danny is really OOC here!_

_Official Beta-reader_—_send me something. And don't even try to figure this out.  
_

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_"What is left when honor is lost?"  
**~ Publilius Syrus**  
_

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**Father and Son**

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_This has to be some sort of trick_, Vlad decided for zillionth time that evening, eying his dinner companion. He sighed, twisting his hands out in front of him as he pushed his (untouched) plate of food aside. "Daniel."

Danny looked up at him, smiling sincerely for the tenth time since he'd shown up. "Yes, father?"

Vlad scowled. "Stop calling me that," he ground, shifting his glare onto the teenager. "What are you up to?"

"Up to?" Danny asked softly, blinking in his honest confusion. "I don't understand."

The chair flew backwards and clattered to the hardwood floors as the enraged billionaire jumped from his seat, snarling. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, _boy!_" He stomped his way towards the slightly-frightened (still utterly confused) child, pushing his half-eaten plate of beef stroganoff towards the floor. "What do you take me for? An _idiot_?"

"N-no," Danny stuttered, a light wave of hurt materializing in his eyes. "You're not an idiot. You're my father; I'm your _son_—your _apprentice_ and _heir_."

"Oh, right," Vlad snorted, slamming his hands down on the table, "and you expect me to _believe_ that?"

A light tear collected on the brim of his left eye. "I—I thought you _wanted_ me to be your son."

The elder half-ghost rolled his eyes, not moved in the least. "I _do_ want you to be my son. I _don't_ want you to use that knowledge and _pretend_ to be my son."

The tear made its way down the soft flesh of his cheek. "I'm not pretending," Danny mumbled gently, looking down at his hands.

"Well, if you're _not_ pretending, then why isn't your mother joining us?"

Danny glanced up, a hint of that smile from earlier playing on his face. "Mother should join us soon," he stated, eager to do anything to make his father happy again, "as soon as she realizes what an incompetent buffoon Jack Fenton is and what a wonderful man _you_ are." He paused, measuring Vlad's reaction before continuing. "As two half-ghosts and with the brain of the best paranormal scientist to ever grace the planet, our family will rule this world before the decade is done!"

"...You can't be serious."

Danny nodded enthusiastically. "But I am! Haven't you always wanted to be king of the world? Mother will be your queen and I can be the prince! We'll be so powerful that _no one_ will be able to stop us."

Vlad stumbled backwards, the impact of the teen's words finally hitting him. "Daniel, are... are you _really_ wanting to be my son?"

"Yes," he answered, his shoulders falling in the relief of his father accepting him.

"No mind games? No ulterior motive?"

"Of course not," Danny breathed. "I would never betray my father."

For the first time since Daniel had shown up, Vlad smiled. Sweeping his newest family member in a tight hug, he murmured into his hair. "My boy."

* * *

"I want a princess," Danny demanded, shooting an ectoblast at his father's chair.

"Now, Daniel," Vlad quietly berated, "no energy manipulation in my presence."

Danny's glower strengthened, though the curls of emerald power coming from his balled fists dissipated. "But father—"

"And you really should stop referring to our family as royalty," Vlad continued, studying his fingernails and completely ignoring the simmering form of his son. "It's childish. I'm Supreme Ruler of the Earth—not _King_." He waved his hand near his ear, as if to dismiss the thought. "A _king_ is so weak, still ruled by the demand of his people. As Supreme Ruler, I don't have to care about my people; they'll just always be _my people_."

"Yeah, yeah," the young boy sighed, having gone over this conversation more times than he cared to relive, "dictatorship always trumps monarchy—what else is new? But as I was trying to say—"

"Are you mocking your father, son?"

"Of course not!" Danny quickly disagreed, turning his eyes towards the slim form of his mother, having already grown used to the small, mind-control device that stuck out from her ear. "I was just—"

"Sweetheart!" Vlad chimed, standing so the he could envelop Maddie in a warm embrace. "How have you spent your evening?"

"Pleasantly enough," she answered, playing with the small ponytail at the nape of her husband's neck. "How was _your_ day?"

"My day just got all whole lot better thanks to you—"

"Enough!" Danny exploded, glaring pointedly until his father straightened away from his mother and gave him his full attention. "Just listen to me."

Vlad nodded, only really half-listening but willing to give his son whatever he desired. "What is it you wanted again?"

"I want Sam Manson."

* * *

Sam struggled against the light rope that was holding her wrists and ankles, twisting uncomfortably in the otherwise-comfy chair. Great, just great. She was _stuck_.

Everything had been going just _fine_ before this. Her parents (after forking over roughly a quarter of a million dollars) had finally gotten their electricity to start working again. Slowly, if she ignored the demolished buildings, the ghostly patrol, and the numb ache in her heart of losing both of her best friends—and one to a road far worse than death—she could pretend the world was going back to normal.

But then _this_ had to happen. She didn't necessarily know where she was or what she was doing here, but she considerably doubted some random murderer had off and kidnapped her. Not only was the place she was in _way_ too fancy to be the torture chamber of some crazy lunatic, but this type of crime—the high-offense kind—had basically dwindled into non-existence. In the times they lived in now, as the human race struggled to keep itself alive, no one would dare to kill another. Shoplift? Sure. Murder? Never.

Sam tried again, maneuvering her wrist this way and that to see if she would be able to slide it past the plastic rope. No such luck.

It was three thousand, eight hundred fifty-seven breaths later (she'd counted, reduced to doing that to keep her mind from going crazy) when the door of her room opened. She gasped, tears sprinkling in her eyes and hatred curling itself around her heart as she stared at the young man that walked in.

"Hi, Sam," Danny whispered, sitting on the comfortable bed that was in the room. "Long time no see."

She continued to glare at him, bile rising in throat as she bit back every single name she had sworn she would tell him if she ever got the chance.

He sighed, pulling a hand through his disheveled hair. "I know you're mad—"

Sam snorted a laugh. Understatement of the century, much?

Danny pursed his lips, glancing at her. "You don't have any rights, you know," he deadpanned. "You have to do whatever I say."

"I'd rather _die_," Sam growled, pushing on her restraints for emphasis, "before ever doing anything _you_ say."

"Do you even have any idea why I decided to get a new father?"

Sam raised an eyebrow.

* * *

It was two months later—much to astonishment and utter delight of Vlad—when the two twenty-year-old were married, the glorious event televised for everyone in the entire world to see.

"My boy," Vlad whispered, holding Maddie's hand as they watched their son kiss his bride. "My family."

Maddie smiled, leaning against her husband. "Your family."

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Ten years passed in slow monotony before Danny entered Vlad's lair for the last time. For _his_ family. For _his_ father.

Vlad glanced up from his reports, smiling gently as he motioned the younger half-ghost closer. "Come in, son."

Danny shook his head, shifting into his ghost form in a white flash of light. "Fight me."

"What?" Vlad laughed, setting down his pen with aging fingers.

"Fight me," Danny repeated, shooting wildly at Vlad's desk until it exploded in a whir of green flames. "It's time for you to die."

Vlad jumped backwards, instinctively reaching inside him for the cold corner of his mind. In a black flash, Plasmius stared Phantom down for the first time in fifteen years, aching with an internal hurt as he watched Danny slip into a fighting crouch. "Son?"

"I'm not your _son_, you old fool," Danny snapped. "I've never _been_ your son. Now, shut up and fight me!" He launched himself at Vlad, managing a powered punch to his nemesis's jaw and a kick to his gut before Vlad was able to react.

Shaking, trembling, Vlad stared at Danny, different forms of pain slipping past his mental and physical barriers. Finally, after taking countless blows and hits and barely being able to form the words, he whispered: "No. I'm not going to fight you."

Danny grimaced. It wasn't going to be nearly as much fun if he didn't fight _back_. But watching his former father—the man who had ensured he grew up to be a success and the pinnacle of what was even possible, the man who had sacrificed just as much as he had taken away—he wasn't merciless. Danny made sure to end Vlad's worthless existence as fast as possible, with the least amount of pain.

As he watched the life flicker away from the eyes of his would-be friend, a blue flash appeared behind him, quickly disappearing to reveal the Master of Time.

Clockwork approached Danny, placing a hand on his shoulder as they stared at the lifeless body of Vlad Masters. "You've done well, Danny."

"Yes, father."

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_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._

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_Review._


	9. Phoenix

_"The child who acts unlovable is the child who most needs to be loved."  
**~ Cathy Rindner Tempelsman**_

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**Phoenix**

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Deep in the recesses of the Ghost Zone, a mist of consciousness started to stir, coated with the sweetness of a baby's laugh and the bitterness of a villain's cackle. Two twin gleaming, red eyes opened for the first time and a mouth of perfectly straight—sharp—teeth smiled. Surrounding the features, a cherub face started to form, the epitome of innocence.

But with the beautiful face came a devastating power and destiny. Soon, the ghost baby—more man than infant in every single way except appearance—made its way from ghost lair to ghost lair.

Every spirit welcomed it with coos and smiles. Every spirit never got the chance to wave goodbye, however, as they each started to disappear within themselves and fall into the very place that surpasses the afterlife._ They had all lost._

The baby smiled again, delighting in its power and curls of energy. Its eyes fixed on the swirling color of an open Fenton Portal and its smile increased tenfold.

The next person to endure its innocence would be the infamous Phantom of Amity Park. And this time, the ghost-child would lose.

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_And lose he did._

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_"Help me!"_

Danny stared at the source of the cry for help, his eyes skimming over her slim body and bloodied face. His head tilted to the side, curious and innocent, unable to comprehend the destruction he was seeing. He couldn't help himself as he took a step forwards and bended over to inspect the rubble and chaos.

"Help!" she grunted again, struggling against the giant rocks that pinned down both her legs. She knew they were broken, and she also knew that unless she got out of here within the next few minutes, her legs might be amputated and she would never be able to walk again. "_Please!_" she cried desperately, fresh tears spilling down her dirty cheeks.

He didn't seem to hear her, though his impossible ice-blue eyes seemed to widen in wonder. _What pretty colors_, his mind informed him. _What a pretty situation_.

Yet there was a nagging in the back of his mind, a sort of itch that he couldn't scratch, of him needing to assist the woman, like if it was his duty. _Because I'm a hero_.

"Hero?" he whispered in astonishment, his mouth turning down in a lazy frown as the woman's shrieks of pain were muted from his ears. "I'm no hero."

Danny shook his head and stood from his curled position, ignoring the woman's latest plea for help _("For the love of God! Don't leave! Help! Help _me_!")_ and walking back to where he had come from, the remains of the world crunching under his feet.

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_Once innocence is lost, it can never be regained. _

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Dipping a part of his staff into the swirling mess that was his time portal, Clockwork studied the images it presented him.

The boy—the child—trying to save his town, fighting against the malicious spirit that had tried to take over the world this time. The blow—the final one—the one that would forever cancel out his powers and restore him into such a childish innocence that he would never be able to regain his morality. The aftermath—the beginning of the end—of the ghost taking the town as its own, smashing buildings and people alike as if they were nothing more than obstacles.

A tight line sprung to his face, making his ancient face seem older than it already was.

The Observants had been over to talk to him already, to try and convince him that he should save the boy, so that he'd be able to stop the ghost. But Clockwork had done what he had always done; he told that he would do it his way, the _right_ way.

It was such a shame, Clockwork thought, taking one last look at his time portal, that this was how the right way had to be.

It was time for a new world order. It was time for the old to be replaced. It was time for Phantom and both the worlds he fought for to be resorted to their infant roots, to start anew.

A lone tear traveled down his now-childish face, before he disappeared in a blue mist. Slowly, his castle followed haste, and soon, there was no sign there had ever been a controller of time.

And there would be no more sign, until the world destroyed itself and then rose from its ashes. A hero wouldn't rise to the occasion this time, because the hero was forever oblivious and would soon die along with the rest.

It was a waiting game now, to see how many millenniums it would take this time for the Earth (if they would even call it that afterwords) to live once more. To give birth to a different form of hero and honor the ones which it had lost.

To knock the innocence out of their minds and leave nothing but a calm, scary understanding of morbidity—more commonly referred to as reality.

Danny Phantom would be no more, but his reincarnation would be everything he ever was... and maybe even more.

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_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._

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_Review._


	10. Your Biggest Fan

_"Part of being sane, is being a little bit crazy."_  
_**~ Janet Long**_

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**Your Biggest Fan**

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Danny struggled against the glowing chains that circled his wrists and ankles, grunting and spluttering as his attempts ended just like they had before: in failure. He couldn't remember what had happened, just that he'd been flying home when a sharp hit to his head made the world spin black. Next thing he knew, he was strapped to the wall of a darkened room, mercifully still in his ghost form.

But it had to be someone who knew about ghost weapons, Danny decided, tugging at the glowing chains one last time before giving up. They would need a way to ensure that he wouldn't use his powers to escape.

Suddenly, the light flickered on, blinding him. Muttering several curses under his breath, he squinted into the brightness.

Eyes still not having adjusted properly, the room was a pink blur with a lean shadow standing by what he assumed was the entrance. He stood up straighter, thanking heavens that the chains allowed him the liberty of that, growling at the figure with unhidden malice. "Who are you?"

A very familiar, feminine giggle answered his question. "Oh," she breathed, "you're even more beautiful up close."

Danny'd heard that voice before, he knew it from somewhere. Scrunching his eyebrows, blinking the last bit of stars from his eyes, he was able to focus on her slim frame.

He gasped, disbelieving his eyes. The caramel skin, the dark hair, the high cheekbones, curvaceous hips... It wasn't possible. Not her, not in a million—

"Pau—Pau_lina_?"

She smiled brightly, hips swinging to and fro as she walked closer to him. "I just knew you knew my name," she whispered. "We're meant to be together, after all."

Shaking his head at the initial shock, Danny started to smile. It was just Paulina. It wasn't Vlad, who would torture him to different degrees of pain. It wasn't his parents, who would poke and prod him until he revealed the truth. It wasn't even Skulker, who would rant continuously about finally having captured him, giving Danny ample time to escape.

He sighed in relief. _It was just Paulina._

"Listen," he started, "I kind of have to go. So if you would just untie me, I'll be on my merry wa—"

"You're not going anywhere," Paulina quickly interrupted, stepping closer so that she was only an arm's length away. "You're going to stay here with me. Forever."

"That's not a very good idea," Danny said, scowling. "I have things to do. I can't stay with you."

"But I love you," Paulina mumbled, chocolate eyes swimming with tears. "Don't you love me, too?"

"I—uh—well..." _No!_ "It's not that I don't— I mean, I already have— Listen, Paulina, you should really let me g—"

"No!" she shouted, fist curling. "I finally have you. I'm never going to let you go. You're going to be _mine_ and mine _alone._" Seething, she stormed towards Danny and firmly planted her lips on his.

Blinking, completely caught off guard, he pushed her away, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "Why did you do that for?" he asked angrily, green eyes wide and glowing.

Paulina was ignoring him, her fingers placed lightly on her lips. "You taste like ice," she murmured. "I like ice."

An eyebrow kicked up. Okay, Paulina was officially way loonier than he had previously thought. Looking away from her swirling eyes—which were really starting to creep him out—his gaze wondered around the room. Immediately, his eyes bugged from his head and his stomach dropped.

He was—he was—in a... a...

Nursery?

Decorating every single corner of the room was pink—pink upon piles of _pink_. Giant (pink) teddy bears, probably larger than he was, littered the floor. A (pink) dresser overflowed with (pink) clothes and costumes, strange and sick parodies of a child's dress-up time. There was even a ginormous (pink) crib in the middle of the room, overflowing with different stuffed animals and fabrics—all, of course, pink.

Fear started to creep around his heart as he looked back up at Paulina, who was watching him with an unreadable smile on her face.

"Do you like it?" she asked quietly, her eyes jumping to his face to the room and back. The twisted smile never subsided. "I made all of this for _us_."

Danny gulped, taking another fearful glance around the room. It suddenly struck him that Paulina was really _never_ going to let him go. "Please," he whispered. "I don't want to be here."

Paulina twisted her head to the side, uncomprehending his pleading. "You're going to stay here with me," she repeated simply. "We're going to live our happily ever after. You are my Prince Charming." She smiled wider and leaned in for another kiss.

Danny twisted away from her, pushing his head back so that it would not be within range of her lips. "Paulina," he snapped, "I'm _dead_, you're _alive_. It could never work out between the two of us. _Let me go!_"

"Simple details," she sighed, a dreamy look crossing her face. "You're mine now."

He squirmed away from her as she touched his cheek. "I'm my own person," Danny growled, snapping her hand away from him. "I don't want to hurt you. I'm going to ask one last time, _let me go_."

Paulina pouted, half-angry that he should be acting the way he was. As the idea struck, she brightened and reached inside the swell of her blouse, gingerly shoving her hand inside it.

Danny immediately paled. "Wha... _What are you doing?_!" he shrieked crazily. This couldn't be good.

She smiled at him and pulled her hand out, which was now holding a small ecto-gun. "Perfect place to hide stuff, huh?" she asked casually, completely missing the way Danny's face had yet to regain its color. She pointed the gun at his mop of white hair. "Now, do you still want to leave?"

His eyes flickered to the gun and then to her face erratically. She wasn't going to let him go. She was going to keep him prisoner—forever. As the realization finally started to settle in his mind, his eyes started to water and a tear traveled down his cheek.

Danny had always thought he was going to meet his end at the hand of some powerful ghost, or maybe even his parents. Never, not a million years, would he have thought that he would waste his life away who-knows-where at the hands of _Paulina_. It almost wanted to make him smile, if the actual predicament weren't so tragic.

_I'm going to die here._

Shaking his head, another tear falling out of his eyes, he looked back up at her. "No," he sobbed, finally answering her question, "I don't want to leave anymore."

Paulina squealed and launched herself at him, arms hooking around his neck as she attacked his lips.

Danny couldn't even protest properly—no matter how many times he flicked her away from him or told her to stay away—as she started to take off his gloves and boots. He didn't want to do this. Not with her.

Paulina smiled and reached pull his shirt over his head. "I love you."

* * *

"... And so, the search for missing sixteen-year-old Daniel Fenton rages on. If you have any idea about his whereabouts, please contact the police department immediately. His family and friends all beg for his safe return home. It is still unclear if perhaps his disappearance may be ghost related, considering his parent's profession.

"In other news, Danny Phantom—the infamous ghost boy of our town—has yet to be spotted anywhere. Some speculate that his strange absence may be linked to that of Daniel Fen—"

Paulina flickered off the television, sighing as she stood up. Calling to her parents behind her that she was going out, she grabbed her coat and raced for her pink convertible. She smiled when she was on the highway, knowing she was only a few more minutes away from being with her soul mate.

He had stayed like a good little ghost, complying with all her whims just because he loved her. Ah, love.

Her eyes shadowed for a second as she sighed again, more contentedly than before. She finally had him and now she was never going to let him go. Even when he begged to be let go and stared at her with tears in his eyes, she knew that it was better this way. He had a better life with her anyway.

She pulled into the driveway of her summer beach house, a smile breaking her face in two.

Once she was past the front door, she walked towards the basement and pulled the key from her back pocket, feeling satisfied when the bolt connected. She walked down the stairs and opened the second door.

Immediately, the sight of him, shirtless, sitting on the floor with his hair dancing in front of his vibrant eyes, had her smiling brighter than ever.

Danny looked up from his curled position, watching with horror as Paulina walked across the room to him.

"It's Saturday again, dumpling," she called to him, smiling. "You know what that means."

The tears overflowed from his eyes as he shook his head. "No," Danny whispered, though he doubted she'd heard him. "_No_."

Paulina crouched in front of him and touched his wiry chest muscles, gently placing her lips on his, ignoring (like she usually did) the tears that swam into her mouth and made him taste salty.

When she pulled away, the tears still hadn't stopped their constant torrent. "Please," Danny croaked, "I want to go home."

"This is your home now."

* * *

_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._

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_Review._


	11. Betrayal

_A/N: Warning for second person and MAJOR, major OOC for Sam, and major-minor OOC for Danny.  
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_"Constantly choosing the less of two evils is still choosing evil."_  
**_~ Jerry Garcia_**

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**Betrayal **_  
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You got the call a few minutes ago, and you fly through the skies at breakneck speeds—_she sounded nervous, she must've been in trouble_. When you phase through the roof of the gymnasium, you're still only worried about her safety, about saving her and beating the crap out of whatever ghost currently terrorizing her.

It doesn't take long to find her, standing in the middle of the room with her head hanging down. You fly towards her as you scope the area. Your brow wrinkles in confusion—your ghost sense hasn't gone off and she seems to be alone—but you quickly dismiss it. As you walk towards her, you start to think this is more of an emotional emergency instead of a ghostly one. Your heart goes out to the Goth in front of you.

"Sam?" you ask. Permission to step closer. Permission to let you help her.

She lifts her eyes off the ground and you're more than surprised to find tears swimming in those amethyst eyes you've fallen in love with.

You close the distance in a heartbeat and mumble her name again. An assurance that you're right there.

You're too busy looking into her eyes that you don't notice something sneaking at the corners of your vision. You don't notice the white flash that means the end of your freedom. All you feel is the sharp sting of the dart as it lodges itself in between your shoulder blades.

Black clouds your eyesight and the world starts to go blurry. But you manage to catch sight of two glowing lavender eyes gazing back at you. You don't know the expression that surrounds the eyes, but you start to hope against hope that it's horror instead joy. The eyes blink and she talks to you for the first time since you came to "rescue" her.

"I'm sorry."

You barely catch it; the darkness is encroaching. You'll never be sure if you heard it right. You'll never be positive that she was ever sorry at all.

Finally, you realize that you can't fight off the numbness in your body any longer and let it constrict you, allowing yourself to tumble into a barrel of unconsciousness.

* * *

You don't want to open your eyes.

You've been bordering on conscious for a few minutes now and don't want to face what might be behind the familiar dull red of your eyelids. The memory of your last conscious moments has come out and you don't want to accept what it might mean.

You hope somehow all of this links to a good ending, and not to what you're forbidding yourself to think. You paint a picture in your head of a surprise party planned by all your friends and (somehow) drugging you being the only way they could think of so you wouldn't complain. That they did it because they love you and wanted you take a break from all your hard work.

But that's fools hope and you know it.

When you are able to start processing smells again, you've almost come to grips with what you're sure has happened to you. The too-clean smell floating around is only a confirmation to those fears.

After an eternal moment, you dare to open your eyes. You want to close them right back up and pretend you're not seeing what you are.

Everything is white. The walls of the small square room. The door. Your bed. Your clothes. Your blanket. The dresser in the corner. _Everything_.

You immediately reach for the cold corner of your mind, hoping to fly madly away from this evil place and never look back. Nothing happens.

You try again and focus your energy. Ectoplasm roars underneath the surface of your skin, molten, begging to be released. But it stays in place. You look at the small bracelet that covers your right wrist and groan. _Of course_ they wouldn't let you keep your powers.

The door slams open and you cringe away from the two men that enter your room. One of them is holding a small box with a button on it and you instantly know what it does.

You glare at them, dealing them with your worst glower minus the glowing green eyes. With the anger boiling in your system, a small spark of emerald energy fizzles out of your curled fingers. You don't notice, but the man with the box certainly does.

He pushes the button and suddenly your world is nothing but pain.

* * *

When they first drag you into the pristine, white laboratory, you struggle as much as you can, even make escape attempts once or twice. Every time, the guy with the box shocks you and knocks stars into your brain.

They strap you to a table and you scream. You shout. You do anything to make them stop what they're about to do.

They continue on like if they hadn't heard you.

When the doctor makes the first incision, you flail around instinctively, recoiling away from the sharp scalpel they are pressing into your abdomen. The doctor barks for guards to hold you still.

You can't move against their strong hold. You're trapped.

They poke and prod inside of you for thirteen eternities, and all you can do is let the tears squeeze out of your eyes from the unbearable pain.

After that, you continue to struggle against their attempts to experiment on you, but never as hard as the first time.

Eventually, you just stop fighting it. This is your miserable life now, and you have to learn to accept that.

You stop crying. You stop screaming. You stop trying to struggle. You just let it be.

At first, the doctors congratulate you, admiring the progress that you have made. You don't talk to them. But then, they start to worry for you, and you can't even summon the emotion to smile halfheartedly at the irony of that.

They try to get you to talk, and they tone down the experiments for a few days. The meals become more regular and they actually make an effort to keep you healthy.

You still don't care.

They have a plan to get you out of your shell. It starts out the same as any other day. The two men come into your room, though it's more of an escort now that they don't have to drag you out of your bed kicking and screaming.

When you pass the dissecting room, a tiny trickle of confusion makes it past your barrier of emotionlessness. Today is Monday. Mondays they open you up and take a look inside you to see if anything has changed.

You immediately slam down the confusion and continue to walk. You don't care.

The two men lead you into a room you've never been in before. You can't help but raise an eyebrow, though that's more out of habit than actual feeling. The room is gray, a deep contrast from the white that has inhabited your life for the past two years, and there's a table and two chairs in the center. It's an interrogation room.

But they have nothing to interrogate you for. They've already sat you down and forced you to tell them all your secrets and weaknesses. There's nothing else to tell.

You walk into the room with the guy with the shock box, leaving the other man to close the door behind him. Kyle—as you've found out his name is—leads you to a chair and tells you to sit down.

You don't even think about objecting. You just do it.

Kyle goes to stand into the corner and stays there. You meet his eyes for a second and he smiles at you.

You don't shudder, like you used to when any of the doctors used to smile at you. Kyle has grown to be someone you would've liked, if you ever cared about making friends in this hellhole. He actually seems to have a heart and only shocks you when you do something drastic. He hasn't shocked you in almost three months.

You don't even try to return his smile; you simply turn.

Your fingers start to tap—another habit you haven't been able to break—as the minutes tick by.

When the door opens, you barely glance up—but what you see makes you want to cry and suddenly, you're fighting against a wave of the emotions you thought you'd banished.

She walks into the room behind a guard, who leaves promptly once she's seated.

You're still frozen.

She's changed from the last time you've seen her, of course she had. Her hair is slightly longer, and she's grown out of her pretty features and into a beautiful woman.

But you don't care about what she looks like; you'd grown out of that shallow thinking long ago, before you'd even been captured.

"Hi, Danny," she whispers.

With her voice, you're able to find leverage again. Your heart lifts and a genuine smile actually tries to play on your lips. But that's easily squashed down by the roaring fire that's lapping at your veins.

"Sam," you say, clipping her name, setting your jaw into that emotionless mask you've worn for over a year now.

She flinches and you take sick pleasure out of that.

"H—how have you been?" she asks unsurely.

You can't help it; the question is just too funny. You laugh.

She leans away from you, as if that reaction was the last thing she was expecting. Hell, maybe it was. You still don't care though.

"How have I _been?"_ you growl, and you're totally satisfied when it comes out sounding a bit maniacal around your laughter. "How have I _been_? _That's_ what you ask?" You shake your head and a twisted smile lights your face. You're kind of glad Kyle can't see the expression from behind you. "You turn me in to the Guys in White, and you ask _how I've been?_"

"I—I," she stutters. More words try to make it past her lips, but you don't give her the chance to keep talking.

"How do you _think_ I've been?" you snap. "They _ripped me open _and _dissected_ me! They turned my brain into _mush_! I turned myself into a freakin' _zombie_!" You breathe in—out—try to stop the anger that's shooting into your veins like liquid fire. But the dam's been broken and there's no bottling up your emotions anymore.

There are tears in her eyes, but you couldn't care less. _Let_ her suffer. _Let_ her have a small taste of you've had to endure for all these years, feeling unloved and being mutilated every other day.

You're too focused on calming down your breathing and staring down into those pools of watering purple that you don't notice the molten magma of your ghost half swimming just underneath your skin. It is feeding off the fire of your anger and slowly pulsing in a very familiar way.

You haven't felt like this in almost two years, but you hardly notice, only chalk it up as a side effect of letting yourself feel again, especially as she starts to talk again.

"I'm so sorry, Danny."

The magma rolls inside of you. "You're sorry," you say flatly, still struggling with your breathing.

She nods.

"You're sorry!" you shriek, having lost the battle to contain your swirling anger. "You let me rot in here for _two years_, and you're _sorry?_! Hah! If you'd been _sorry_," you twist the word, making it into the worst blasphemy ever uttered, "then you wouldn't have turned me in, in the first place!"

Her tears have fallen over. "You don't understand," she tries to say. "I needed—"

"You needed _what?_" you bite. "Oh, please tell me what the little rich girl needed _so_ badly, she turned in her best friend for it."

Her mouth moves, but no words make it out.

The chair crashes to the floor as you stand up. "You don't deserve to live," you whisper, and you're shocked that the words even made it past your own mouth. But once you hear it out loud, you realize it's true, that she doesn't deserve to live after all she's put you through.

The magma of your ghost half roars underneath your fingers, green lighting curling into existence around the cuff that had neutralized your powers ever since you'd been here.

Sam's eyes widen and you vaguely hear it when Kyle tells you to calm down, the threat of pushing the button of his box hanging over your head.

You barely notice when the bracelet on your wrist cracks in half at the power you are pushing into it. You barely take note of the fact that Kyle has started to call for backup and Sam is currently shying away from your angered form.

The world is spinning red, and for just a second, your eyes return to that ghostly green they haven't been in for far too long. But the green is easily crashed down by the crimson that fills every corner of your mind, telling,_ begging_, you to step forward and make the little witch that put you through all this hell _pay_.

You take a step forward and a sharp bolt of crimson energy smashes into the table. You're out for blood. You want_ revenge_. And now you're free to get it.

When she starts to scream, all you can do is laugh, letting the supernatural wind you created slap your hair away from your face. You take another step forward and let the crimson of your power flow through your fingertips. You laugh again, delighting at how the temperature has dropped.

For the first time since you've entered this prison, you smile happily. With another twist of your wrist, a cracking sound fills the room and her lifeless body falls to the floor.

* * *

_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._

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_Review._


	12. Letters

_A/N: Might make this into an arc, if enough of you ask me to. Other than that, all requests are in the making and I'm hungry for REVIEWS!  
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_(sob) I'm sorry! (sob) I had to do it! (sob) Poor Aiden! (continues to cry and hopes readers don't kill me)  
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_"It is bitter to lose a friend to evil, before one loses him to death."  
**~ Mary Renault**_

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**Letters**

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Dear Daddy,

Mommy told me to write this for you. I'm not sure why and _I'm_ not really writing it. I'm just talking and she's writing whatever I say on the 'puter. Okay, okay, I'll stop getting sidetre— sidetrah— uh, that word you just used. Um, what am I supposed to say again? Oh yeah!

I want to tell you I love you. I barely remember you since I only saw you until I was three. I'm five now. And I can count all the way to thirty! Can you believe it, Daddy? I've gots to use all my fingers and all my toes and all the pencils and erasers in my desk, but I can count to thirty! Ms. Clark is very happy with me. I get to sit in the bean bag chair during story time, when everybody else is on the carpet! It's so cool!

And do you 'member my friend Cindy? She's Uncle Tucker's daugh— daught— um,... Uncle Tucker's her Daddy, just like you're my Daddy. She comes over a lot now and we spent lots of time together. Mommy keeps saying something about history repeating itself. Does that mean anything to you? I don't get it, but Mommy says I'm just like you and her when you guys were kids. I still don't get it, but if she says I'm like you then I'm happy.

It's not the same without you here all the time, Daddy. I miss you, though I barely 'member you. The ghosts are still coming and Grandma and Grandpa and Aunt Valerie are fighting 'em off, but they need you. Mommy says not to be afraid and I'm not afraid; I'm a big boy now and I'm not afraid of anything! But I want you to come back home. I miss you.

I'm getting lots better at controlling my powers. I can make my hand glow now and I can make myself not be there! I tried walking through walls and I did it once, but then I couldn't do it no more and gave up because it hurt my head. But I want to be as strong as you when I grow up, so I'm gonna give it a try again. Mommy says that all Fentons are stubborn. What does that mean? Are you stubborn, Daddy? Am I stubborn? If you're stubborn, then I want to be stubborn too.

Mommy laughed right now. Is that a good thing? Is she stubborn, too?

We're going to visit to you today because today's the exact day you died. I don't remember that day. What was it like to die, Daddy? Did it hurt? Mommy and everyone says you died a hero, but you were always a hero, so of course you were gonna die one. You were the best hero there ever lived. Way better than Spiderman or Batman or even Superman. You were _real_. You saved the day and got people to be good. You were my daddy.

Are you waiting for me in heaven, Daddy? Because I'm waiting for you to tell me yes. I really feel like being with you sometimes. I cried once, but don't tell Cindy because I'm s'posed to be the strong one—like you. Mommy reads me stories like you used to, but it's not the same. She does it really good and she does the voices the same, too, but... I don't know. I guess she just isn't you.

Mommy explained that you always loved me and didn't mean to leave us. I know that. I just want you to be here instead of in heaven. Is that selfish? Ms. Clark said once that we shouldn't be selfish, 'cause it was a bad quality to have. I don't want to be selfish. I just want you home.

You weren't there for my birthday party and I got mad at you. I'd been hoping you would show up and help me blow out the candles, like you always did. When you weren't there, I ran from the backyard and into the basement. That was the time I cried. I was mad at you and I'm sorry. Mommy said you couldn't have come, no matter how much you pro'bly wanted to. I'm sorry for being mad. S'not your fault.

We're bringing flowers to you and my letter today. I'm not sure how you'll read it but Mommy says that isn't the important part. I still don't get that.

Oh! Mommy's pointing to the clock. That means it's time to leave.

I hate wearing this suit and I'm sure you wouldn't mind if I wore my sneakers when I visit you, right, Daddy? Mommy says to stop stalling.

Okay, I guess I said everything I wanted to. You'll always remember that I love you, right? You're the best Daddy in the whole wide world and I miss you so bad. I'm gonna keep controlling my powers so I can grow up to be big and strong like you. I'm gonna make you so proud, Daddy, you'll see. I'll be a hero just like you. That way, when I see you in heaven, we'll fight all the evil ghosts together and have so much fun.

It'll be fun, right, Daddy?

Love you,  
Aiden

(Look, Mommy! I spell'd my name right!)

* * *

_When she reached the familiar plot, Sam and her son silently placed a small bouquet and a tiny rectangle on the soft grass under the gravestone. They spent a few minutes murmuring in soft tones as they spoke to him, smiling, frowning, crying__—__the tell-tale sign of a family in mourning. They left as silently as they had come, the mother reaching out to scoop her son in her arms, a mere hour later.  
_

_His heart reached out to them, but he held back, like he always did when he came in their near vicinity. When the sun started to fall hours later, he was brave enough to float forward and investigate what they had dropped off._

_He touched the flowers gently, smiling. Lilacs. Sam had never found out that the reason he loved the flower so much was because it reminded him of her eyes. Tilting his head, he reached out for the small, ivory letter, curious. His breath caught in his throat as he examined it._

_On the cover, written in bulky red crayon, was one word: Daddy._

_He immediately recognized the scrawl from the familiar squiggles he had taped to the fridge once three years ago. He closed his eyes, forbidding the rising moisture to fall._

_Swallowing heavily, he opened the letter and began to read. By the time he was done processing the last words on the crisp paper, a few drops of salty tears had fallen to stain the ink and his chest was heaving as he tried to control his breathing._

_He closed his eyes as a sob ripped through his chest.  
_

_When a familiar aura materialized behind him an hour later, he still wasn't in total control of his emotions._

_"Danny," the voice said, putting a familiar hand on his shoulder._

_He shook his head, fresh tears appearing in his vision. "It's not fair," he croaked, moving his hand to swipe at the tears._

_"Life isn't fair sometimes," Clockwork whispered. "We have to go back, before someone sees you."_

_"I'm not even _dead_," Danny bit back, more to himself than the ghost behind him, having argued this point enough in the past, "not anymore than I've been for years. I'm still here and yet you forbid me from seeing my family."_

_"People must believe you're no longer on the living plane," Clockwork repeated for the millionth time. "It will make sense one day, when you are truly needed."_

_"My son needs me _now._"_

_"A few years of mourning will be worth the salvation of humanity. You can't go back."_

_Danny closed his eyes and looked at his grave, another tear falling. He glanced at the paper curled in grip and tried to smooth out the wrinkles he had unconsciously inflected upon it when he'd been talking to the well-meaning ghost. He frowned sadly and ignored the tear that slipped away from his blue eyes to roll down his nose.  
_

_Then, he sighed and let Clockwork lead him back into the Ghost Zone._

* * *

_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._

* * *

_Review._


	13. Puddles

_A/N: Hey, guys! Miss me? Probably not, since you totally ignored my last story. It's been edited, if you wanna take a look, but what didn't you like about it? I liked it, and I thought it was sob-cute. Then again, I'm crazy, so I guess you guys are just not into that stuff. This is stored in my Learn for Future Experience category: readers don't like future AU. _

_Anyway, it's time to start with the requests! I know all of you have been waiting for this. Usually, I would start from whoever submitted first and just keep it like that, but I felt like mixing it up. So, I did a raffle. I assigned each request a number, and picked it out of a jar to make it totally random. Here's lucky number 4! (And to the rest of you who submitted a request, your number's a-spinning.)  
_

_This is a one-shot requested by _**Lani's Tamer-chi**_, who is awesome, because she always leaves me really nice reviews. I really hope you don't mind the direction I steered your plot. Kinda moved by itself without my say-so.  
_

_And I probably should have been a little more sensitive towards Paulina. But I kind of hate her, so I ended up dehumanizing her a bit. I didn't mean to! Honest! It's just I find it really hard for her attitude to so inexplicably change—even with death. So I kept her as a really conceited chick. Hope that's okay, Viki. Sorry if it isn't. You can always make me do a recall if you don't like it. __(By the way, you'll never figure out the Clockwork thing. But if you do, tell me, because I haven't figured it either.:p)_

* * *

_"Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world."_  
**_~ Marilyn Monroe_**

* * *

**Puddles**

* * *

They were drunk when they killed me. I can't really blame them; they had just lost the football finals and really needed a way to drown their sorrows. Not that I condone underage drinking—just look what it did to me: I'm _dead_. Though that has more to do with their stupidity than their drinking. They just _had_ to have a little joy ride, didn't they?

But I digress. My story starts more on the day they killed me than my life before the accident.

However, for the sake of my little tale, I'll give you a vague summary.

I was walking down the street in the middle of the night—don't give me that look! Have _you_ ever tried walking in total silence down the street? It's pretty damn relaxing, and I needed a stress-reliever from how jam-packed my days were sometimes. It isn't easy to keep every girls' self-esteem at an all-time low, get every guy drooling over you, _and_ manipulating your way through high school. It's hard. Really hard.

Anyway, I was walking down the street when their car hit me. Just a sudden _bam_!

...and pain. There was _a lot_ of pain. But I'll spare you all the details of just how painful it was. That would be so _dark_! (I don't _do_ dark.)

Anyway, they got out of their car to inspect the damage, called me a moose for some inexplicable reason when they were still far enough away they couldn't see me, and, I swear, I could smell the alcohol reeking out of their clothes.

By the time they were standing over me, their stupid drunkenness gave way to actual fear.

"P—Paulina?" Dash squeaked, lightly touching my hair.

I opened my mouth to tell him something—probably beg for my life or yell at him that _of course_ it was me (who else would look that good on their death bed?)—when a choking flash of pain swept through my abdomen. I let out a strangled shriek instead.

Kwan—the oaf—was the one to suggest the one to suggest the brilliant idea of just leaving me there. "She's dead, man," he mumbled, wiping at his eyes. "There's nothing we can do. She's in a better place. We can't get blamed for this. It'll just be another hit-and-run."

And then they ran back to their car and left me there on the street. Dead. Dying. Whatever.

Jerks.

* * *

I woke up on my bed. At first, I thought it had all been a dream and was ready to completely shrug it off. But then I looked at myself in the mirror. My skin was white-blue—which totally clashed with my pink blouse: eww!—and my legs had turned into a tail. Not even one of those cute mermaid tails. It was a freaking _spectral_ tail, totally see-through and vaguely dark blue.

Considering the circumstances, I think my reaction was totally called-for: I started freaking out.

Of course, while in the midst of jumping up and down, that somehow translated into _flying _straight _through_ the ceiling and hovering in the air. This resulted in another freak-out.

It took me around ten minutes to finally calm myself down. It took another ten minutes to remember what had happened. It took me nearly an hour to come to terms with the fact that I was dead and a ghost. And it took almost until sunrise for me to realize I had to do something other than just float around and freak out over my death.

I ended up floating towards Casper High. Reason? There is none.

I roamed the hallways for a long time, trying to get someone to notice me. Apparently, I was stuck as invisible and _no one_ could see me. They could hear me, though. But after causing most of my friends to run, screaming, away from me, I stopped trying to talk to them. I settled for listening in on their conversations.

That was how I found out that I'd been dead for about a week—still have no idea where I was for all that time—and that I had been a royal bitch when I was alive, to put it mildly. The more I floated around and thought about it, the more I agreed that I really was a girl who focused more on my utter and deserved popularity than increasing my circle of friends.

Go figure. It took death for me to finally agree with that Goth girl. She'd smile at that, I was sure she would. (But I was not shallow!)

Around lunch, I floated towards the gym and sat down on the bleachers, thinking. All of this introspection was getting me seriously depressed. I didn't _want_ to be a horrible person, and I most definitely did not want people to keep talking behind my back about what a bitch I was. Being dead kind of ruined all of my plans to try and make amends.

In a flash of intuition, I decided to try and find Dash and Kwan. If all of those freaky movies about spirits were true, then they'd be able to see me since they were the one's to have killed me. I'd force them to help me if I had to.

It didn't take very long to find them, as they were hiding in the building conjoined to the gym—the library. Gosh, they were such geeks. Did they do that—go the the library, I mean—when they were hanging out with _me_? They would've been kicked out of the group for that.

But I was dead now and couldn't really do anything about it. That sucked.

Shrugging, I phased through the wall of the library. I shivered. Yeah, that was going to take some getting used to. It felt totally icky, but I dismissed the thought as I floated towards my killers, resident Dimwit Number One and Two.

I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one was near enough to hear me and was satisfied that Dash and Kwan were sitting in the corner of the room where they were hidden by three book shelves filled with encyclopedias. For the first time in my life (afterlife?), being secluded from other people was working to my advantage.

I smiled, though I quickly smoothed my features into spookiness—you know, the wide eyes, mouth open in an O shape, hands wiggling above my head. If I do say so myself, I was pretty scary. Satisfied, I flew slowly until I was above their heads. "Boo, ooh, I'm ah gho-ost!" I whispered menacingly, extending my vowels and adding tremors to my voice. "Oh-bay mee!"

The two boys froze simultaneously in their seats. One of them gulped. "D-did you hear that?" Dash stuttered. Chicken.

Kwan shook his head. "N-n-n-no," he squeaked, trembling.

I smiled—I was good at this!—and cleared my throat. "Turn around."

Stiffly, they both followed my orders—and screamed like little girls once they saw me.

Alright, so, check: they could see me. Score one for creepy, B-rated horror movies.

Upon hearing their shrieks, an aging librarian poked her head behind one of the bookshelves. She looked around, raising an eyebrow when she saw nothing that could have two hulking football players screaming like banshees. Another sweep of the room and she glared at them, putting her wrinkled finger to equally-wrinkled lips. "Shh! Be quiet!" she ordered, her tiny voice shaking. "This is a library! People are trying to study, so unless you want to be kicked out, keep down the racket." She stared pointedly at them one more time and stormed off.

I smiled sweetly at the two boys, who had sat in silent shock, shaking their heads between me and the librarian when the old lady had been there. "Now," I whispered, floating lower so that I could stare them straight in the eyes, "we need to talk."

If it was the lady-like thing to say, I would've said they practically passed out with fear right there and then.

* * *

"A—amends?" Dash asked for the hundredth time.

I rolled my eyes towards the sky. _Ay Dios mio!_ Could those two get any more thick-skulled?

After running down basic facts with my two murderers about what I wanted to do, I'd let them go off and frolic with all my friends, promising—threatening—that I would be back after their football practice, and they'd better meet me behind the Kissing Bush (so aptly named because all honorary A-listers hit second base behind that towering fern of green and leaf) or else face my ghostly wrath... not that I had any idea if I even _possessed_ ghostly wrath.

I was a ghost, I could float, I could fly, I could phase through walls, and I was stuck as utterly invisible except for the two buffoons who'd orchestrated my death. I wasn't pissed off, at least, not more than I would be if I were still alive. I'd always thought ghosts (except the Ghost Boy—who was superhero eye-candy that defended this town and saved lives) were these evil things. I wasn't evil. I was trying to make amends, wasn't I?

Which brings me back to the present, to Dash standing below me as I hovered and asking these repetitive questions.

"Yes," I sighed after a while, pulling a hand through my hair. (Another thing: for some reason, this ghost hair is so _soft_! I just love touching it!)

Kwan blinked up at me stupidly. "And you want us to make the amends for you?"

I pinched my nose, trying to control my temper. _Ladies don't lose their cool. Ladies don't lose their cool. Ladies don't lose their..._ "Yes. You're making the amends," I said slowly, deliberately punctuating each word, hoping they would understand better. "Since no one can _see_ me," I continued, still slow enough for a kindergartner to follow, "I need someone _else_ to show how sorry I am."

"Sorry for what?"

I shut my eyes tight. "Sorry for being a bitch," I explained, expecting a roar of sympathy to come flowing to me.

"Oh," Dash said instead, "that makes sense."

My eyes popped open and my mouth dropped like if it was filled with lead. What a jerk! First, he kills me. Now, he has the _gall_ to call me a bitch? Mother fu—

"But how are we going to make the amends for you?" Dash kept going, interrupting my inner-monologue. "Like, are we supposed to go up to every person you've ever insulted and give them a formal apology? Do have any _idea_ how long that would take? You've kinda insulted everyone in town."

I opened my mouth for a witty comeback—but I closed it half-a-second later when I realized he was right. Had I really done that? Was I really that monumentally—and this was a tough word to get out; it tasted rancid—_shallow_?

What had that Goth girl said once? _"You mean, that I could step in a puddle full of you and not get my feet wet?"_ I remembered, how much that had stung. Not because I _cared_ about what she had to say about—she was a loser, after all—but because she was the first person to ever _defy_ me. _That_ stung, knowing my hold to my popularity wasn't as set in stone as it should've been.

I looked back at Dash, my mood doing a complete one-eighty flip from my previous annoyance. I felt... I felt... _lost_, like if my entire world had just been rocked by its core and the foundation I depended on was disappearing. I didn't like this feeling—at all—but I knew that the only way to get rid of it was to continue to try and fix my growing list of regrets.

Dash raised himself to his feet once he saw my expression. "Hey," he murmured concernedly, "you okay?"

I was going to be, as soon as I set my guilty conscious at ease. I could only smile at him faintly. "I'm fine," I assured him, motioning for Kwan to stand up as well. "And I want to start already. The sooner this is over, the better I'll feel."

Kwan raised an eyebrow, dubious. "So, uh, you know," he stammered, still unable to meet my eye, "who's first on the list?"

I laughed. "It sounds like a hit list, doesn't it?"

The two boys smiled at me, lightly chuckling. Well, at least I hadn't lost my rockin' sense of humor. "It kinda does," they agreed, shifting from foot to foot.

It took me a while to realize they were awaiting instructions. Great. First it's a hit list, and now it's the freaking space shuttle. I rolled my eyes, happy to regain some of my laid-back attitude, though it felt a little forced. "Okay, I think I know who I should apologize to first."

"Who?" Dash asked, tilting his head to the side.

I smiled. That Goth girl wouldn't be able to call me shallow after this. I wasn't just some puddle. "Samantha Manson."

"Vampira?"

I frowned. Throwing insults in her face would be totally wrong if I was trying to fix _my_ wrongs. "Hey," I chided, crossing my arms, "none of that. She's Sam. And you're here to help me make amends, remember? Insulting the people I'm apologizing to is just stupid."

The football players exchanged a look. "I guess," Kwan shrugged.

"No," I emphasized, glaring at them, "not you _guess_. I don't need to remind you: you're doing this because you _killed_ me. There's some great cosmic force at work here and we need to obey it." Was I seriously running with this bull? "You help me cross over, and your hearts will be healed from the burden of killing me—or something dark and mysterious like that." I crossed my arms, looking down at them from under my nose. "Unless, if you _don't_ want to help," I threatened, "I can always call the police and report my killers. But that won't be it. If I don't move on, I'm going to haunt you until the day you _die_, even if it's in prison."

They both tensed and immediately started blathering apologies and promises about not insulting anyone and being in total debt to me, yadda, yadda.

I smirked. "That's what I thought. Now, follow me." I phased through the Kissing Bush, waiting for them to wrestle against the twigs before I started moving in the direction of the Nasty Burger. The Goth girl had a knack for hanging out there with her friends—which, if I thought about it, I was going to need to add to my list, too. Man, this thing was getting pretty hefty.

But I was Paulina Sanchez. I was not going to let my memory be stained by the horrible decisions I might have made when I was alive. And I was going to prove to everyone—to me, to the Goth girl, _everyone_—that Paulina Sanchez was not just a puddle on the sidewalk, evaporating into the clouds to never be seen again. No, I wasn't a puddle. I was a river. I was a lake. I was an entire _ocean_. I would never evaporate like that.

I would never allow it.

* * *

_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._  
**_~Plotted and Requested by _Lani's Tamer-chi_.~_**


	14. Future Blossoms

_A/N: Here's another installment in my Request Saga!  
_

_This one is for Lucky Number Two, who is an anonymous reviewer known only as **Kassidy**. Sweet. That sounds so mysterious. Anywho, I basically wrote the intro for **Kassidy**'s plot, and left it there for someone to adopt. (Yes, guys, ALL OF THESE ARE ADOPTABLE!) So, hope you like how your shot turned out, Kass! ;)_

_Also, aside from the fluff you will find in this—don't worry, it's good fluff—I have some good/bad news. I'm assuming you all have heard of ScriptFrenzy. It's my first year, and I'm giving it most of my attention. There's no need to fret, however. I'm expecting tons of writer's block to come my way, and I'll be working on the requests while I am blocked-up. Just don't expect regular updates... not that I gave them already or anything._

_(And Warning: There's something totally awkward somewhere in the middle of this piece. I can't exactly pinpoint it and it's driving me CRAZY! Tell me if you find it, so I can fix it.)  
_

* * *

_"Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes."_  
**_~ Gloria Naylor_**

* * *

**Future Blossoms**

* * *

Every Fenton in the long, drawn-out history of Fentons knew when was the right time to give up—though they were usually too stubborn to listen to themselves. This, she consented, was not one of those time.

Ariel flipped backwards, barely managing to dodge the glowing rod of the ecto-stick as it trailed behind her. It clipped her shoulder, though, making her stumble into some misplaced boxes of nameless junk. She hissed in pain, her teeth clenching as her hand traveled to massage the forming bruise.

"You didn't have your formation in place, sweetie," Sam soothed, letting the ecto-stick in her hand revert back to its compact size. "Your legs weren't as far apart as we practiced, and your arms were too stiff. You left the entire upper half of your body open for attack."

Ariel managed a small smile, flinching as she stood up. "I know, Mom. Sorry."

Sam shook her head, tossing the ecto-stick to her work bench as her tongue clicked in apprehension. "You being sorry doesn't stop the fact that you might accidentally do that in an actual fight," she grumbled. She ran a hand through her hair, eyes glowing with maternal affection, as she slipped into a crouch. Her lavender hazmat (that she _only_ used for these training sessions) caught the lights and shinned against her body. "What d'ya say? Want to try to some hand-to-hand for now?"

Ariel rolled her eyes. Yeah, _right_. "No offense," she drawled, "but I don't like getting beat up by my own mother."

"Beat up?" Sam chuckled, standing up straight. "I don't beat you up, sweetheart. I just make sure you can handle all forms of attack. It's not like I've ever hurt you."

"It's not the _training_ that hurts," Ariel emphasized, still massaging her shoulder. "It's being soar for _days_ that hurts."

"Remember, we're only doing this until you've mastered your powers. Until you can beat me, you're not ready."

"Not ready?" Ariel gasped in mock horror, her hand flying to her mouth. "Say it isn't so! I shall never be able to withstand the shame I have brought upon my family!"

"Why is it," Sam wondered, rolling her eyes as she watched her daughter, "that you and your father have to be so melodramatic?"

"I resent that," came the response from the ceiling, though Ariel wasn't the one to reply. Not a second later, Daniel Fenton—international ghost-fighting superstar/superhero (and beloved father and husband)—appeared, wearing his trademark smirk and familiar black hazmat. His green eyes flickered to Ariel. "She gets that from _you_, Sam."

Sam settled her hands on her hips, falling into the familiar pattern of teasing they had never outgrown. "Since when have _I_ been the dramatic one?"

Danny floated to the floor, his smirk growing to a grin as he crossed his arms. "Since the time you decided to join the _drama_ club."

"That was for _one week_!"

"And I warned that I would hold it over your head for years to come." The bright light that accompanied his transformation blinded the room for a moment before Danny rose from it, carrying his briefcase casually.

Ariel smiled, coming over to hug Danny across his waist, wincing slightly as her shoulder moved. "Hi, Daddy."

Danny turned his smile towards his daughter, carefully placing a cool hand—ah, got to love those ice powers, the perfect ice pack—on her bruised skin. "Did your mother hurt you again?" he teased.

Ariel settled for her best wounded puppy-dog expression. "Mm-hmm. She's just _so_ abusive."

He couldn't help—though he knew Sam would give him hell for it later. He laughed. Hard.

Just as predicted, a feminine glove-covered hand came to smack him across the top of his head. Danny winced away from his enraged wife, managing a tiny smile before looking back at Ariel. "You're right," he whispered. "She _is_ abusive."

This time, the flying hand was expected, so Danny twisted intangible for a second. "How's training going?" he asked freely, even as Sam hitched her foot in the air and aimed for his head. He ducked easily.

Ariel took two big steps backwards, fighting back her own laugh as she watched her parents _'dance.' _"Oh, you know," she mused, a light chuckle escaping as Sam took to a deadly combination of punches (which Danny just phased straight through), "same old, same old."

"Good," he called back to her, spinning in a graceful circle and sticking his leg out as Sam took a step forward. She tripped (obviously), falling into Danny's waiting arms and squirming as he kissed her hair. "Got'cha."

Sam grimaced, though she didn't make a move to untangle herself. "You big jerk."

"But I'm _your_ big jerk."

"And if you want dinner," Sam hissed, fighting down the smile that was threatening to split her face in two, "then my big jerk better _let me go!_"

Slowly, Danny let his arms fall, pouting the whole way there.

Ariel rolled her eyes. Sometimes, her parents were worse than a batch of hormonal teenagers. But they were fun—more fun and loose than any of her other friends' parents, so she never really complained. Not only would she run the risk of them suddenly becoming strict overlords (oh, the horror!), but she would never get the chance to laugh at their expense or have the luxury of feeling like she could tell them _anything_.

She smiled, not even listening anymore as her parents flirted—there really was no other word for it—back and forth. She focused for half a second so that she could phase through the floor. Landing lightly on the balls of her feet, she was glad she'd left the Ops Center—or Training Room (worthy of the capital letters), or whatever the thing above her house was called—as she heard giggling. God, could they _get_ anymore embarrassing?

She shook her head and shifted into her ghost fourth. The name made her want to smile—fourtho: three-fourths human, one-fourth ghost. With her transformation, much like that of her father's, there came the change in clothes—which had been a _nightmare_ to master, so that she wouldn't shift into her birthday suit—and the change in appearance. Though her hair was the same raven color as Danny's (which translated to the same chalky white when she was in ghost mode), her eyes were her mother's, in human _and_ ghost mode. No glowing green for her, no sir. Just a pale lavender.

Ariel chuckled, flying off her feet so that she could float in her room for a while. She was going to continue floating casually, maybe try her hand on those ectoblasts and shields she was barely starting, when the world stopped. She failed to notice it at first, twisting her hand in front of her as she focused curls of purple energy into existence. It wasn't until she looked out the window and noticed an unmoving bird that she started to freak. And with the freak out came the loss of the building ectoblast—damn.

Her head swiveled back and forth, noticing the abnormal silence and stillness of her home. The clock had stopped blinking, her computer had stopped humming, and that bird from the window had yet to move a single feather.

As her head caught up with what was happening, relief flooded through her. It was just a Time Out. Her dad had told her about them some time ago and she'd met the Time Master on more than one occasion. Nothing to worry about; no end of the world.

But when her dad didn't phase through the roof and start blathering an explanation, she started to get anxious. She was going to go back to Ops Center—at her own risk, too, considering Sam and Danny were probably still caught up with each other (ew)—when a clock arrow formed above her desk.

It spun itself into a portal, where the familiar form of the ancient ghost floated away from. He smiled at her, and Ariel couldn't help but smile back.

"What's going on, Uncle Clockwork?"

"Oh, dear child," he sighed, floating closer, his body shifting to that of a young man, as he reached out to put a hand on her arm, "I need your assistance in something."

Her eyebrows scrunched together. "Me? But Daddy's right up there in the Ops Center, I'm sure that—"

"This is not a task for your father," Clockwork quickly interrupted. "This is for you. I need you to come with me."

The dry remark that was about to pop out of her mouth about following strangers to places she didn't know died on her lips when she saw his hard expression. "Uh, okay," Ariel said instead, flying behind the ghost and into the portal.

The sight of dozens upon hundreds upon thousands upon millions upon... actually, this could go on forever, but there was _a lot_ of clocks in Clockwork's castle that always astonished her. Over the course of her fourteen years of life, she'd visited her dear, not blood-related ghostly uncle a grand total of six times, and _still_ couldn't play cool when she came into his Time Deck (which, by far, had to be the funniest thing she'd ever heard him name a room).

"You may want to close your mouth, dear one," Clockwork quietly joked. "You might swallow a time fly."

Abruptly cutting off her staring at the differently synchronized clocks, Ariel snapped her eyes to the ghost. "There's such a thing as _time flies_?" she breathed in astonishment, eyes huge and glistening.

"Of course there isn't," he chuckled, shifting to an old man. "I just needed to get you back on topic."

Ariel harrumphed, crossing her arms (ignoring her sluggishly-healing shoulder) and sourly glared at a mass of swirling green on a screen. Stupid time-controlling prankster. Mom said that he got it from her father, but it still didn't make it any less humiliating getting caught in one of their many jokes. "What was the topic again?" she grumbled, not wanting to but asking anyway.

Clockwork smiled cheekily. "You're going to love this: you have to rescue your father."

Childish fit of annoyance currently forgotten, Ariel turned back to her uncle and raised an eyebrow, understandably disbelieving. "Come again?"

His smile grew, emphasizing his chubby cheeks now that he had shifted into a kid. "You're going to rescue your father," he repeated simply. "In the past, he's currently trapped in the Guys in White's holding facility. On any other occasion, I would have sent this time line's version of Danny, but the Danny we are rescuing has an understandable fear of any of his future-selves." At her questioning expression, he smirked. "Long story."

"So let me get this straight," Ariel backtracked, blinking. "You want _me_—fourtho in training that has yet to master proper hand-to-hand and ecto-manipulation—to rescue my _halfa_ father of the past? Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds? What makes you so sure that I won't just get captured, too?"

"You mean aside from the fact that I know everything?" Clockwork replied innocently. "Your father's trapped in the facility just because he made a stupid mistake. It doesn't take an expert to break him loose. If it wasn't for the fact that sending _this_ time's version of your father would be completely counter-productive, then he could have gone and been home in time for dinner."

"So I'm not gonna be home for dinner? But it's tofu salad night," Ariel whined halfheartedly, knowing it was a lost cause. "I love tofu salad!"

"How about a little less talk and a lot more debriefing?" Clockwork said hastily. "There are some rules you need to follow before going into the past."

"Like?"

"For starters, there shall be no mention of time flies—or any other time insects."

Needless to say, the conversation dragged on and on for a good hour or so—don't reveal you're from the past; don't interact with your father aside from saving his butt; if you encounter any butterflies, don't scare them off or something stupid like that (who knew he believed in the Butterfly Effect?); don't fall in love... I'm serious; do _not_, under any circumstance, _die_ on me; you can tell him your name, but not that you're a Fenton; if he somehow figures you out, call out to me; don't take off your Time Medallion; you get one shot at this, don't mess it up. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

Ariel's head felt like mush and her eyes were crisscrossed by the time Clockwork finished explaining all the rules of time travel.

"Do you understand?" he asked, leaning lightly on his staff as he floated closer to one of his time portals.

Ariel rapidly blinked away her muddled thoughts, slightly shaking her head, as she stared back at him blankly. "Uhhh..."

The ghost groaned, letting his head fall back in aggravation. "You are your father's daughter," he mumbled, dipping a fingertip into the swirling green mass of the time portal. "You are just going to have to try your best, I guess."

The screen swirled hypnotically, spinning and spinning until the constant green was replaced with the landscape of a cheery-looking federal building. Ariel raised an eyebrow, incredulous that the GiW holding facility really was in the shape of a giant white 'W'. Could you say _'obvious'_?

"That's one of the reasons the Guys in White got shut down, isn't it?" Ariel asked, pursing her lips at the thought.

Clockwork smirked, nodding. "The agents didn't necessarily have a sense of secrecy."

"I see."

Clockwork chuckled and lightly pushed her forward, motioning with his chin to the portal. "It's time for you to go."

Ariel nodded, biting her lower lip. "Okay, so I just go in, spring him out, and you bring me back. Right?"

"Right. Now go."

Not wasting time for a hasty farewell, Ariel shook her sudden nerves away and jumped into the portal. She landed on soft grass, rolling to a standstill as she shut her eyes against the afternoon sunshine. She waited a few seconds before squinting her eyes open to watch the portal disappear.

Shaking her head, adjusting her eyes with one more blink, she turned and stood precariously, shifting her gaze to the holding facility where a bunch of government goons held her father prisoner. Her eyes narrowed and she slipped into her ghost mode, bright light traveling down her body to turn her hair white and change her clothes into her customized hazmat—a silvery white body with a stylized lavender 'A' that had a 'P' in its center.

Ariel Phantom smiled and twisted into invisibility as she descended down the hill and towards her dear-old daddy.

* * *

_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._  
**_~Plotted and Requested by _Kassidy.~**


	15. Operation AID

_A/N: Um... *awkward cough* ...hi? It's been a while... a very _long_ while. But just for the record, I blame technology. Let me put it in simple terms: MY. HARD DRIVE. ERASED. ITSELF! So, basically, all the stories and requests I'd been working on tirelessly for months and weeks, were DELETED! Everything! Poof! Gone._

_(Also, I was kind of discouraged with the lack of reviews for the last chapter, but whatever.)  
_

_It took so long to get everything out because, (1) I had to write everything all over again — from scratch, mind you_ _— and (2) I couldn't exactly remember how I outlined all the requests. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty disappointed with how some of these shots came out, simply because they're not the old ones. The deleted one-shots were my pride and joy; I wasn't able to recreate the exact same effect the first versions had for the newer ones. You'll just have to deal with it._

_But, you know, moving on. Request Number 1, you're up! :)_

_This is the first request that was submitted, done so by the awesome _**DBack47**_. His plot was simply amazing that I'd dedicated a good 7000 words into the original version. Now, it's more around 6000, but meh. (And, btw, there'd be a whole_ paragraph_ of praise for this dude if simply not for the reason that this A/N is already too long.)  
_

_Also, some good news. This guy's continuing it! This Sundae Cinema Motion Picture will be continued by _**DBack47**_! I'll post an announcement as soon the first hint of the new story comes out.  
_

_Semi-Warning: At the beginning, this is flangst (fluffy angst). It's not the kind that I adored from the original version, and it's a little bit awkward here and there, but I can't find a way to edit it. Again, you'll just have to deal with my horrid comeback.  
_

* * *

_"Bond... James Bond."_  
**_~ James Bond_**

* * *

**Operation AID:  
Beginnings  
**

* * *

His fist smashed into the impeccable white perfection of his desk, cracking the wood in such a way that some of the mahogany visible underneath the chipped pain. He didn't seem to notice, momentarily occupied by glowering at the man that stood before him. "What do you _mean_ we can't get the Fenton kid?"

The smaller man cringed, his crisp, white suit wrinkling at the shoulders. "W-well, s-sir—"

"It's Agent One to _you_."

The man swallowed. "Uh, Agent One, sir, the kid is protected by the view of the media. We can't get to him without someone noticing his disappearance—"

"Explain to me why we can't just do with him what we did with that werewolf-girl?"

"Sir, the woman accused of being a werewolf just had a terminal skin condition. We had to dispose of her remains in a toxic waste dump and inform her fami—"

"I didn't tell you to lecture me, Agent B; I _know_ what happened to that freak. I want you to answer my question. _Why_ can't we just kidnap the boy and ship him to our island facility? Surely, in a week, no one will even remember him."

Agent B sighed. "But that's the thing, sir—"

"Agent One."

"—Agent One, we can't just take him in the dead of night like we do with all the rest. The kid's got a worldwide fanbase, a _following_. People are obsessed with him. If he just disappears one day, it's not going to take long before everyone starts pointing the finger at us. We've been hunting him for _three years_. It's not such a huge leap of faith for people to realize we finally snagged him."

For the first time since the lower agent had entered the room, Agent One leaned back in his chair and uncurled his fist, silenced.

He could detect a thousand and one minute flaws with how the agency had been functioning for almost a decade now. No longer were they the secret government organization they had been in the '80s, the one that took care of all paranormal happenings from behind the public eye—spy-style. They weren't nearly as secretive, now. Several agents had not been careful, flaunting their white suits and black sunglasses in the middle of Town Square as they carried prototype weapons. It hadn't been long before the Internet was buzzing about their discovery and was jumping to (mostly accurate) conclusions about what they did.

Agent One exhaled. Somehow, some way, he was going to make sure Daniel Fenton was strapped down to a dissection table by the end of the month. He'd get it done even if it killed him. "Fetch me the code files, will you? I need a plan."

* * *

Invisibly crouching in a tree, Danny looked at the mob of people which raced throughout the park. They were his fans—his rabid, crazy, _'possibly even more insane and annoying than the Box Ghost'_ fans. "I don't think I can handle this anymore," he mumbled, pulling a hand through his white hair.

It was times like these, when he was forced to hide from the attacks (praises) of the general public, that he really wished he hadn't stopped the Disasteroid from destroying the Earth... Okay, maybe not wished that he hadn't _stopped_ the asteroid—because that would have meant the annihilation of everyone on the planet—but wished that he hadn't revealed his secret identity. Maybe then he'd have been Danny Phantom—ghostly savior of the world.

And not Danny Phantom—half-ghost, teenage, underage, high school student, still-human, half-dead (which really was so much different than half-ghost), superhero, role model, the pinnacle of perfection (insert or delete sarcasm depending on who you were talking to), _'can't make a single mistake'_, child, kid, monster, freak, travesty of nature, savior of the world...

Yeah, the first one sounded _a lot_ better.

Danny sighed, watching forlornly as the crowd disappeared into the other side of the park. He clunked his head on the hard bark of the tree, letting his eyes drift closed. Two and half freaking years and the hype _still _hadn't gone down. He'd fooled himself to think that the interest would go down, that he'd be able to handle the fangirls he apparently had and the crazy reporters who followed him to an almost stalkerish extent.

But nope. Obsessed people—way too much like obsessed ghosts, if he admitted it to himself—never got over the object of their obsession. And he was unfortunate enough to be the object of people's obsession.

The only good thing that had come out of this whole fiasco, aside from his parents accepting him and loving him and not once waving a scalpel in his face, was that he was with Sam. Which was the exact reason he was hiding in a tree, in the park, in the fist place: he was meeting Sam here for their weekly date night. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been caught half-dead walking down the street.

Opening his eyes, he caught sight of a giant black raincoat walking down the path towards his tree. It was Sam. Ever since the media had caught whiff that the two were dating, Sam'd had her own share of fans (and haters, though those mostly consisted of Danny's fangirls). She'd learned the hard way that unless she wanted to get constantly mobbed, she was going to have to go incognito every time she stepped into the open.

Of course, being the creative individual that she was, Sam had taken in stride. It was amusing to different degrees—except when it got uncomfortable, like when she had dressed up as a guy—to see what she would come up with each week. _"Why not go all out,"_ she'd said when Danny'd asked that one time she had dressed up like a perverse, Gothic cheerleader—not that he'd minded, of course._ "It's fun stretching the imagination. This way, they never see _me_-me and only see costume-me."_

Thoroughly confused, Danny had nodded and never mentioned the topic again. Besides, like he'd said before, it was so much more amusing waiting for the mystery of each week to unfold. _What would Sam wear this week?_ It was like a cheesy guessing game that occupied his mind whenever he was silently patrolling during the night.

Sighing contentedly, twisting into invisibility as he flew towards the ground, Danny was slightly disappointed when he noticed Sam was just dressed in an oversized raincoat, baseball cap, and sunglasses—all, of course, black. He would never tell her, for the risk of bodily injury was just too great, that he enjoyed the days when she would dress up more than he should have—_especially_ the days when what she was wearing left little to the imagination.

Ah, sweet, blissful memories.

Shaking his head, Danny sneaked up behind Sam, silent laughter shaking his body as he saw her gaze up at their tree—their long-since arranged meeting point—with blank confusion. "Danny?" she mumbled, her head swiveling in all different directions.

"Boo!"

Predictably, Sam screeched bloody murder, her voice hitching several octaves. Her eyes bulged out of her head—though it was impossible to tell behind her big sunglasses—and her heart practically fell out from her chest.

Shimmering back into visibility, Danny bended over laughing, holding his sides tightly as his chortles shook his entire frame. He knew Sam was going to murder him for that later, but right now, it was too funny to worry about. "You... you," he gasped, sucking in breaths in between guffaws, "you should've _seen your face!_" Another hearty round of laughter overtook him as happy tears squeezed out of his eyes.

Getting her heart rate to slow down to a much more healthy level, Sam glared at her boyfriend. Her fist tensed, and she whacked it forward to smash against his shoulder.

If she hadn't been so mad, she would have remembered that Danny had developed jaw-dropping reflexes and didn't need mere eyesight to know when someone was about to throw a sucker punch in his direction. Years of fighting invisible, cheating ghosts would do that to you. He heard the air whistling for a second in the near-vicinity of his shoulder and let his reflexes take over, immediately ducking and springing at the the attacker, mirth still making his eyes shine and small chuckles escape from his lips.

"Gah!" Sam shrieked, flailing under the bulk that was currently pinning her into the soft grass under their tree. "Get _off_ of me, you big oaf!"

"And why would I do that?" Danny breathed, bringing his face down so that it was only a hair away from her nose, the last of his laughter dying away in another chuckle.

Sam scowled, already used to his tricks of trying to disorient her. "_Because_," she stated gruffly, "if you want to catch the movie, we have to go _now_."

"I'd much rather stay here with you, Sammy," he said, blinking innocently. "What's another sequel to the gory classic '_It Came From Under the Bed_', anyway? I—"

An excited chatter a few yards away had both of their heads snapping up in horrified surprise.

Sam's eyes widened. "You were_ followed?_" she questioned hysterically, scrambling to her feet as she pushed Danny away.

"I thought I lost them!" he said, watching as the crowd that had chased him all the way to the park finally caught sight of the two.

"There!" one of them shrieked, holding her microphone closer and pointing in their direction. "There he is!"

The voices mingled together into a soft roar, questions and praises flying in every direction as they sprinted towards Danny and Sam, who were only just barely managing to get to their feet. "Over here, Phantom!" another one screamed, one that wasn't a reporter but was just an aimless fan holding a poster that read 'I heart Danny Phantom.' "Over here! Smile!"

Danny grimaced and held his hand out to his girlfriend hastily, thinking that he could just fly away invisibly and maybe even continue with their evening plans.

It was too late, however. The crowd had reached them.

People were in every which way, pushing poster boards and cameras at him, asking questions and shouting nonsensical nothings in his direction as they unintentionally separated him from Sam. "Sam!" he shouted, looking around desperately for the black raincoat. In a crowd like this, she could easily get trampled, especially since no one knew she was Sam Manson, girlfriend of Danny Phantom, and not just some random girl with oversized clothes. "Sam!"

"Danny!" he heard her shout back over the roar of the talking, only a few feet a away, but seemingly farther than she had ever been in his life.

He tried to push away the paparazzi, but that got him nowhere. Frantic in his haste to get to Sam and make sure she didn't get hurt, Danny twisted into intangibility, letting a few reporters and fans fall slightly before catching themselves as they were overbalanced. He phased straight through them, almost missing Sam as she was being jumbled in between two overweight men.

He caught her hand and flew into the air, ignoring the crowd as they continued to point and shout. Setting his jaw and cradling Sam closer to him, Danny managed a small glare at his fanbase before turning invisible and setting his direction towards home, date night and evening plans forgotten.

* * *

"Ouch," Sam grumbled, hissing as Danny lightly applied an alcohol-soaked cotton ball to the bruise on her cheek.

He tried to smile at her as he put a bandage on her cheek before kissing it. "Don't be such a baby," he teased, hoping to lighten the taut mood that had filtered through the air since they'd escaped from the park. "Now you know what it feels like."

Sam smiled and held out her hand for his inspection. "They _do_ say karma's a bitch," she mussed.

Danny chuckled and tenderly fingered her aching wrist, checking it with the experience of only someone who had been in this type of situation before could, applying light pressure in his search for broken bones. "Karma's not so bad," he murmured. "At least, not as bad as my fans." He peeked at her with wide eyes, expression apologetic. "I'm sorry, Sam. I shouldn't have let them do this to you."

She shook her head and smirked. "Stop apologizing," she insisted. "You couldn't know that they would get this rowdy this time. Besides," she added, shrugging, "no real harm done."

"They could have broken your bones," he growled lowly, finally releasing her hand. "They could've _trampled_ you." He shook his head, as if to banish the haunting thought. "I should have gotten you out of there as soon as I saw you. I knew they were looking for me."

Sam touched his cheek, smiling warmly as he raised his head to hers. "You might have known they were there," she whispered, "but you didn't know they were so vehement today. I didn't get hurt—you saved me, like you always do. Can't we just let it go?"

"No," he sighed, standing up, "I don't think we can. They've been practically stalking me for three years now, and the Guys in White are still trying to capture me. I need to do something to stop _both_ of these problems before anyone else gets hurt." He mumbled the last part, looking at Sam apologetically for what seemed like the millionth time.

She sighed as well, resigning to let him do what he thought was best. "Are you sure?" she asked, taking his hand and pressing it against her bandaged cheek. "Graduation's only a month away."

Danny groaned. "Don't remind me."

"What?" Sam laughed, willing herself to fall into the distraction. "Not ready to leave your inherent popularity and get Paulina off your back for good?"

"Actually," he corrected, "that's the thing I'm looking forward to the most."

"Then what's wrong?"

"College."

"Ah," Sam breathed knowingly, teasing. "So the truth comes out. The world's savior's greatest fear: higher education."

Danny rolled his eyes, smiling, and sat down next to Sam on his bed, gingerly putting an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, shut up," he chuckled, glad that the tense air around them finally seemed to have dissipated. "And no, I'm not worried about _college_, per se. I'm worried how the heck I'm going to be able to afford it."

Sam gave him a thoughtful look. "I could you help with that, you know."

Danny shook his head. "Nu uh. No way. I'm not letting you pay my way into college."

"But—"

"Not buts," he said quickly. "I'm going to find a way to support myself without your ultra-richness."

"Ultra-richness?" Sam giggled in a very un-Goth-like manner, raising an eyebrow.

Danny smiled. "Yup. I don't like feeling like a freeloader. And speaking of that," he remembered, putting a finger to his chin, "I really need to talk to the Guys in White."

Sam leaned away from him, frowning. "About what?"

* * *

Maybe Agent One wasn't specific enough when he said he wanted Daniel Fenton to be strapped to a dissection table by the end of the month. Of course, he hadn't necessarily counted on the boy actually _going_ to the GiW headquarters on his own freewill; he'd thought he would have to get an ingenious group of field operatives to catch him during his graduation ceremony.

But there the infamous ghost boy sat, two hazmat-clad parents at his sides, staring at Agent One like he was perfectly at ease being in the center of an organization designed to capture and study abnormalities like him.

Agent One hadn't believed his secretary when she'd said that there was a Daniel Fenton waiting to talk to him; but he'd been in an agitated mood recently and didn't think a laugh from some wacko claiming he was half-ghost would hurt very much. His secretary had let them in and told them to take a seat.

Agent One was still in minor shock as he stared at the person—_thing_, he corrected in his mind—that he'd been assigned to capture ever since he had first been spotted in Amity Park four years ago.

"Is he going to stay like that?" the father asked quietly, nudging his wife's shoulder as he not-so-discretely pointed in Agent One's direction.

The talking seemed to get him to snap out of his small reverie. Agent One shook his head. "Daniel James Fenton?" he asked warily, as if he still couldn't quite believe it.

The boy nodded, his smile falling slightly. "That would be me. But please, call me Danny."

_If I have any say in the matter, you'll be Test Subject 58.9 before you even think about leaving_, Agent One thought bitterly. Externally, he said no such thing. "And how may I be of assistance?" he asked politely, mind running a million miles a minute as how he could capture the boy and still be able to retain the agency from bad publicity. Certainly, the parents would have to go. No witnesses, after all.

"I want you to stop hunting me."

Agent One's thoughts came to a screeching halt. "H—hunting you?" he questioned, astonished. _How had the boy...?_

The thought clicked in his head not a second later. The agents assigned to his capture had probably blathered on and on about how the GiW had never stopped trying to hunt him. _And once again, there goes the secrecy. _"Let me guess," Agent One breathed, leaning back in his chair as he pressed his fingers in front of him, unconsciously touching the small crack he'd made there not even a week ago, "Agents K and O are the ones assigned to your capture?"

The parents tensed, as if a confirmation of their son's planned capture suddenly made the agency appear that much more menacing. On the other hand, the half-ghost sitting in the plush chair wasn't nearly as affected.

"Hey, yeah," Danny commented offhandedly, "that's what their names are! I would have thought that after three years of bringing back no results, their higher-ups would have replaced them with someone more competent." He looked at Agent One, appraising him with a tilted head. "Then again, I guess not."

Agent One's temper boiled, and his jaw clenched. Why he oughtta—

"But, back to the subject on hand," Danny quickly interrupted, dismissing Agent One's apparent distaste to the back of his mind, "I want you to stop hunting me."

"Why should we?" Agent One snarled, pushing himself forward so he was only a foot or two away from the boy's face. "We never made a treaty with the likes of _you_. As far as this branch of the U.S. government is concerned, you're not even _human_."

Although Jack and Maddie reached for one of the many pockets of their belts, aiming to pull out any of the weapons in their loaded arsenal if the chat got a little too confrontational, Danny barely flinched. "I may not be human," he replied coolly, staring down the older man, "but I'm still a citizen of this nation and I know my rights."

"Those rights apply only to those who are still _alive_."

"Maybe. But it never specifies anything about being _half_-alive. Technically, I still have all my rights."

Agent One opened his mouth for a snappy comeback—but he closed it a half-second later as he realized the kid was right. Damn technicalities. He was going to have to talk to the Boss about this. Easily pushing himself away from the way the conversation was turning, he repeated his earlier question, only with much less malice and a lot more sincerity. "Why should we?"

Danny raised an eyebrow, questioning.

"Why should we stop hunting you, I mean," the agent explained, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Aside from the fact that it isn't right?"

Agent One nodded gruffly.

Danny sighed and leaned forward, putting his hands out in front of him. "I'm willing to make a deal with you," he stated, glancing at the floor before staring Agent One dead in the eye.

"I'm listening," Agent One said, pursing his lips.

Another sigh and Danny launched into the beginnings of his proposition. "The past two and a half years have been... rough," he started, struggling with the proper words. "I never thought reveling my secret identity would leave me as such a giant blimp on everybody's radar. It was fun at first, I'll admit, but that celebrity status and fame got old pretty fast. I didn't really mind the fans all that much, but something happened a few days ago that changed all that."

When the teen trailed off without any indication of starting again, Agent One raised an eyebrow. "And what was that?" he prompted.

"A crowd of fans and reporters, more or less, attacked my girlfriend and I while we were at the park."

"Go on." The agent couldn't have been more unsympathetic. As far as he was concerned, the kid deserved what he got.

Danny exhaled and pulled a hand through his hair. "I'm used to being mobbed, and I'm used to being attacked—hunted, captured, tortured; really, I've been through it all since I got my powers, and it would just be sad if I never got used to it. But I make it a personal matter when my fights start to affect the people I care about. That day at the park, my girlfriend got pretty bruised up, and that's the reason I'm here."

"And what reason would that be, Mr. Fenton?" Agent One asked tauntingly.

Danny swallowed. "I—I want protection from all the fans, and I expect you to provide it."

Agent One blinked, astounded, his lips pulling upward. "So, let me get this straight," he laughed, bringing his hands up to motion between the boy and himself. "_You_ want _us_, the paranormal division of the government, to—one—stop hunting you and—two—provide you protection against your little teeny-bopper fans?" He snorted. "You can't possibly be serious."

"You didn't let me finish," Danny replied calmly.

"Then, please, go on," Agent One declared comically, waving his arm forward in a sweeping motion.

The boy grimaced, though otherwise ignored the agent's lack-luster (to put it mildly) attitude. "I said this was a deal, remember?" Danny reminded the man, not giving him time to respond. "I keep my word, and I wouldn't expect you to keep your side of the bargain without something in return."

"True," Agent One said unabashedly.

"So," the half-ghost continued, sounding a lot more like a business man than an seventeen-going-on-eighteen-year-old, "I make you this offer. If you comply with all my terms, then you—or any other part of the government; doesn't really make a difference to me—can employ me how ever you want. Heck, I'll sort papers and answer phone calls if that's what it'll take to get you to agree."

The senior agent leaned back in his chair, his plans for capturing the boy while he was still within this easy reach aptly forgotten. Sure, the terms were ridiculous like no one would believe, but the _offer_—a powerful ghost doing errands and following orders—was too great to pass off. It had "once in a lifetime" written all over it!

"I'll think about it," Agent One dismissed, studying the boy. "You may go now. We'll call you if anything comes up and if we're willing to consider the, uh, _deal_." The word struggled to make it out of his mouth, tasting slightly sour and revolting.

And just like that, Agent One, for the first time in his colorful career as a government paranormal hunter, let one of his targets disappear out the door of his office. He pursed his lips and reached for his phone, pressing the single red button at the corner. A dial tone filled his ear until the call connected and an assistant answered in a professional tone, "May I help you?"

"Yes. Connect me to the Boss."

"She's in a meeting."

Agent One looked out his window, studying the vegetation that grew at the headquarters with distracted interest. "It's urgent."

* * *

Madeline Fenton stared at the paper in front of her, her mouth open in shock as she tried to gulp down enough oxygen to fill her lungs. "H—_how_ much?" she screeched, staring at her son, who sat across from her on the dining room table.

To his credit, Danny looked pretty sheepish and guilty as he repeated the amount of his tuition for college. "It's not that bad," he tried to reassure her, but when he caught sight of the incredulous expression on her face and her wide eyes, he quickly corrected himself. "Okay. It _is_ that bad." He let out a humorless laugh, looking up at his mother from under his thick mop of hair, and tried to deal her with his best cocky grin. After years of ghost fighting, it was actually pretty convincing.

Maddie exhaled loudly and closed her eyes, not wanting to see the paper on the table or her son's pleading expression. It wasn't his fault, she tried to tell herself, that they weren't able to adequately afford his college tuition.

Ever since the Disasteroid incident almost three years prior, not only had her family been at the center of every tabloid in the country, but the _world_. It had been, for lack of a better word, really exciting for the first couple of months, with constant interviews with people like Letterman and Oprah and even their fair share of world leaders.

But then the scrutiny had reared its ugly head—and at the worst possible timing, no less: Jazz had just gotten accepted into Harvard School of Law. The paranormal institution that funded their work stopped giving out generous grants, something about being too close to the test matter, and some nameless company in northern Minnesota actually had the _gall_ to copyright _her_ little boy.

Various plushies, action figures, clothing, and even furniture were set to be distributed that year, all of them baring the likeness of Danny Phantom or his logo.

They'd gone to court for that little mishap, though nothing came out of it. The court had ruled in the company's favor, citing "freedom of speech," like if taking a living person to make a profit without the person's consent was perfectly legal and orthodox. The company CEO even had the nerve to step in front of Maddie after the court ruling to offer her an apology and a small compensation for what he had done, grinning smugly as he did. The bastard.

Of course, there were several organizations and agencies that were willing to supply them with a steady income, if only to appease the family of the World's Savior, but those vultures were shot down after many of them tried to take advantage of their position and almost forced Danny to do "company favors". It was only from a small institution that funded indie-research that they were able to set up a solid contract.

And then there was the religious speculation.

Even from the very beginning of her ghost research over twenty years ago, Maddie had known that ghosts were not demons. There was a very definite line between the inhabitants of the Ghost Zone and the unexplained, frightening beings that were just that—unexplained. Most ghosts knew what they were, and although sometimes they did haunt places and people alike, those were cases in which they were ruled with their obsession. Demons, on the other hand, were one thing even Maddie, the woman who had the answer to everything, could not explain—at least not without bringing religion into the equation; and she never mixed belief with cold-hard science.

But there the religious crackpots were: protesting outside her door for the demise of her precious child—or, as they liked to refer to Danny, "Lucifer's Spawn". Maddie had almost taken her son out of school completely, after an incident of a mob of those crackpots resulted in a homicide attempt, which not only endangered Danny but his classmates.

She'd had to compile all her research ability and drain most of their funds to find solid, concrete evidence that ghosts were just another type of organism. It appeased the crackpots enough for them to stop sending death threats, but not for them to stop protesting. Their numbers had dwindled dramatically—more likely due to the lack of dangerous ghost attacks, than the actual gain of trust in Danny—but the effect they had taken on their income was still there.

They weren't suffering in poverty or anything of the like; but Danny's college tuition was too large of an expense for her to consider, unless some serious strings were pulled.

Maddie made a noise at the back of her throat, opening her eyes to see her son practically begging on his hands and knees. "What about student loans?" she asked suddenly. It was worth a shot. "Financial aide? Scholarships?"

Danny's pleading expression fell, and he reached behind him to rub the back of his neck nervously. "Well...I've been kinda busy lately, so I didn't get a chance to apply for any scholarships..." He chuckled sheepishly, averting his eyes.

"Danny!"

"Sorry," he mumbled. "But I already sent my applications for the other stuff! I'm just waiting for those to come back."

Maddie sighed. "You need to get a job, mister," she teased, letting the papers fall from her hands.

"I wish." His shoulder's slumped. "Between school, ghost fights, and trying to get the ghosts in the Zone to finally come to peace, I don't have time for something like a job."

"You know there are other competent ghost hunters in the city, young man," Maddie scolded. "You don't need to do that on your own." She crossed her arms. "And what about the Guys in White?"

He raised his head in surprise. "What about them?" he asked curiously.

"You're letting them employ you. Might as well get some money out of it, if it's going to be like a job anyway."

Danny's expression was thoughtful. "True..."

* * *

The call didn't taken long to be made.

Agent One had been dreading the actuality of making it ever since his short talk with the Boss—and he said "talk" in the most general of terms, as it more of a shouting match than any actual "talk". The time had come, however, and the senior agent picked up the phone at the edge of his desk. He punched in the number he'd already memorized and waited as the dial tone filled his ear. The few seconds it took for someone to pick up were brutal.

"Hello?" a tired voice answered.

Agent One frowned. "Daniel Fenton?"

The bearer of the voice yawned loudly, "Speaking."

"It's Agent One, of the Guys in White."

There was a loud yelp at the end of the line, and something that sounded suspiciously like someone had just done a face-plant into the nearest wall. After a long moment, Danny's voice returned, slightly shaken. "Y-y-yes? How may I h-help you?"

"Your terms have been reviewed."

The young boy waited a beat before asking, "...and?"

This was it. Agent One was going to have to spit it out. "The... the Guys in White have decided to take you up on your offer." The words rushed out of his mouth, barely coherent in Agent One's haste to utter them. Somehow, Danny managed to understand.

"Really?" he exclaimed, his voice coated with barely-contained excitement. "Thanks! It would've been a real nightmare if you hadn't agreed. I mean I—"

"Uh-huh. Very nice, kid," Agent One interrupted coldly, sounding oddly bored now that the main message had been delivered. "You are to report to the Guy in White headquarters two days from now at the first ray of sunlight, where you will be debriefed in your mission before being sent to Polterwood, Mississippi to acquire the information this agency needs. Be there or your terms will be null and void." The agent hung up the phone before the boy could protest, letting his body sag once the machine was comfortably situated in its proper position.

Several miles away, a raven-haired boy stared at the receiver in his hand, his mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish. "M—mission?" he managed to stutter out, completely stupefied, blinking.

* * *

"Lah-lah-lamb chop?" a voice stuttered out through the speakers, drawing its master's attention. "A neh-new report has been submitted for your review."

"Thank you, dear," the man called to his ceiling, and the robotic voice withdrew back into the mainframe. He straightened from where he crouched, leaving his latest experiment to squirm in place, gurgling and bubbling like a bright green mess. Of course, the man ignored it, merely whipping his hands together to dislodge any slime which might've stuck to his flesh.

After a moment's inspection, he nodded to himself and drifted toward his desk, which was an odd contraption that was half flat metal and half high-tech computer. He pressed a small button on the keyboard, and immediately, a report lit up on the screen.

He read from where he stood, leaning lightly on the flat part of his desk. Midway through the document, a sickening smile started to split his face. Reading a couple more sentences, he chuckled, a low, throaty sound that was equal parts terrifying and gleeful. Soon, his chuckle turned into full-out laughter.

The guffaw didn't die out until he managed to collect himself, but the smile never left the man's face. "It appears the tide is finally turning my way," he mused himself, giving another slightly-maniacal chuckle. His fingers flew against the keyboard as he tried to access different information—information that he, legally, did not have the right to be looking at. But it took only a few minutes before that information, too, lit up on his screen.

However, this time, the man did not smile upon reading it. He frowned and made a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat instead. "Daniel seems to have more opportunities to succeed than I thought," he said to himself, sourly. He typed in more of the information he required, and abruptly, his smile was back full-force. "Too bad he doesn't know this yet," he added, his tone jovial, "and he never will." With a press of another button, the documents disappeared from his screen, and a virus was sent out to destroy any evidence of his interference.

Turning on his heel, the man retreated to another part of the room, where upon a giant machine rested. He caressed the metal lovingly, his voice murmuring, "Let's see how your little hero act holds up now, Daniel. Let us wait and see."

The contents of the machine stirred, screeching and lashing wildly at the confines which held it.

The man's smile merely widened.

* * *

_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._  
**_~Plotted and Requested by _DBack47_.~_**


	16. Caught on Tape

_A/N: See, guys? My random update was not for naught! I am back to deliver another glorious installment in my Request Saga. Surprisingly, I actually like how this one turned out. ;)_

_ This shot was requested by _**NeverEnough15**_ oh so long ago back in the month of January when I actually had a writing mojo going. But hey, at least I'm back, right? Not gonna get rid of me that easily now that I'm starting to get my one-shot muse back._

_But, onto the praise! _**NeverEnough15**_ is awesome. Go read her stuff and junk. And, yes, that was shameless advertising just like I did on my birthday._

_Another thing, before I end this A/N: one word, guys. Reviews. I crave them. I want to know your feedback! Either I've gotten suddenly worse at making stuff, or you guys don't feel like responding. REVIEW. I'll even accept the very dull, "Oh. Cool stories, chick. Update."_

* * *

_"Be thine own palace, or the world's thy jail."_  
**_~ John Donne_**

* * *

**Caught on Tape**

* * *

The glare of the light flickered on, making Danny flinch at the sudden change. With half-opened eyes, he peaked at the man that stood before him, grumbling, "Was that really necessary?"

The man didn't answer, instead moved to shuffle the papers in his hands.

"Do my parents know you have me here?" Danny asked, trying a different tactic on getting him talking. After all, he'd been dragged into this interrogation room without so much as a say-so. He had no idea what was going on, and considering these _were_ the Guys in White, he didn't think simply phasing through the door would go very well.

He could always make a run for it. But he mentally sighed, knowing that he'd have to answer a different array questions if that plan worked. Besides, he was kind of curious as to why the GiW were trying to question Danny _Fenton._

"You're not going to answer any of my questions, are you?" he questioned irritably after a moment of mussing.

Surprisingly, the agent reacted, if only mildly. He scoffed—softly, of course.

Danny sagged in his seat, drumming his fingers in a _tap-tap-tap-tap_ motion along the metal surface of the interrogation table. Without really thinking about it, he started to hum the newest Dumpty Humpty single under his breath, and soon, his fingers switched from their constant tapping, to a more appropriate _tap-tip-tip-tap_, consistent with the chorus line.

He was very well near to the electric guitar solo—his favorite part of the song—when the door slammed open, immediately demanding his attention from the his one-person concert.

"Finally," the man who had already been in the room said in relief. "The kid was starting to drive me insane!"

The newest agent looked surprised, and turned his head to Danny's equally-surprised expression. "How exactly is that possible?" the man asked gruffly. It sounded as if he'd just come back from a job as a drill sergeant. By his bulking size, it was a strong possibility. He motioned to the teenager sitting at the table with a flick of his thumb. "The kid's just sitting there all quiet-like."

"But he was humming this _song_. And now it's stuck in my head!"

Danny grinned. Without even trying, he'd already gotten on the bad side of one of the government goons. Sweet.

The drill-sergeant agent, who was obviously in charge of the yet-to-commence interrogation, did not look at all pleased at his comrade's declaration. "Agent N..." he started in warning.

The agent swallowed. "Uh, right," he said unsteadily. "Status report. Sorry, Agent Double V."

Double V raised a hand to show the younger man to keep going, and fished some papers up for his inspection from the table, sparring the teenager in their midst a calculating glance. Danny merely watched with a bemused smile, not intimidated in the least.

"Well, the subject put up a small fight when he was apprehended for questioning," Agent N continued, stringing his hands together nervously. It was comical to see in a grown man of his size. "An unfortunate consequence was his sudden unconsciousness—"

_You shot me with some tranquillizer_, Danny thought sourly, his smile finally falling._ After I saved you from becoming a pancake. You're _sooo_ welcome.  
_

"—but he regained consciousness soon after and was transported into this very room. No problem after that, just a little suspicious questioning of his surroundings and that annoying humming I was telling you about..."

Agent Double V nodded, apparently appeased by the information he was hearing and what he was reading. He dismissed N with a wave of his hand. "Go fetch the AV system."

N nodded to his superior and scuttled out of the room.

Danny watched him go, until he heard a metallic scrape and looked up at Double V, who was pulling up the other chair on the table for him to sit. For a man of such a towering size, he didn't make much noise aside from the grinding of metal-on-metal as he moved.

An uncomfortable silence dragged over them as the man flipped through his reports. Frankly, Danny was surprised there was all that much to read. His life as Fenton wasn't really interesting enough to compile all those files. Then again, the Guys in White were known for their "flawless" filing work.

It was another minute (during the course of which, Danny had started wondering what Mom was making for dinner—hopefully nothing, so they could order out and he wouldn't have to fight his meal) before Agent Double V sighed, relinquishing his papers to fall down onto the tabletop. He looked at Danny expectantly.

The half-ghost returned the man's stare with one of his own. The staring contest lasted another thirty seconds, until, blinking, Danny asked, "Are you finally going to tell me why you brought me here?"

"In due time, kid."

Danny grimaced. Great. Now this guy was starting to sound like Vlad's greater-than-thou nonsense, only mixed in with patented, Guy in White idiocy. Just _perfect_. "I'm not a kid," he said indignantly, crossing his arms. He knew it was a lie, since, as far as adults were concerned, anyone under the age of eighteen _was_ a kid, but if all he had was his teenage arrogance, then he was going to use it.

Double V hmm'd, lifting his hand to tap his chin with a long, dark finger. The fluorescent lights reflected off his sunglasses harshly. "You certainly look like a kid to me. What are you—fourteen?"

"_Fifteen_," Danny corrected stubbornly. He narrowed his eyes at the man before him. "What's it to you anyway?" he asked. "Why am I even here?"

A ghost of smirk flitted onto Double V's face. "Like I said, all will be explained—in due time."

Danny rolled his eyes, huffing. "_Of course_."

The silence continued to drag as Agent Double V sat there, staring at him. Danny humorlessly wondered if there was a clock in the room, since he could practically hear the metaphorical ticking as time wasted away. Or maybe Clockwork was just messing with him by forcing time to go slower or something—who knew.

The door opening as Agent N carted in an old-fashioned television set called both of their attentions.

Danny arched an eyebrow, watching as the lower agent fiddled with the television and the tape he carried in one hand. "VHS?" he questioned, incredulous. "What is this? The nineteen-nineties?"

Double V spared him a look. "Digital video has a horrible knack of interfering with electromagnetic currents." He shrugged. "And your school's security system is horrible out-dated," he added, a half-amused note falling into his tone.

The halfa glanced up at him in confusion. "My school?"

The agent nodded briskly.

"Done," Agent N declared suddenly, cutting off whatever question Danny was about to ask. He clicked a button on his belt, and the light in the small room automatically dimmed, leaving the television as the only source of illumination.

Danny resisted the urge to make a quip about how the room was no longer pure white, knowing it wouldn't even warrant a response, and if it did, not a good one.

Double V gestured to the boy and then to the TV. "Pay attention, if you please."

Frowning, Danny did as he was told and angled himself so he could comfortably see the screen.

Agent N inserted the VHS tape into the slot. It took a moment, but eventually the snowy static cleared, hissing as it did so. The picture it left was a back alley Danny vaguely recognized from his school. On screen, all was calm, and a balled-up paper ruffled across the grass.

Danny's head tilted. "Um, what am I supposed to be looking for?"

Double V motioned to N to skip ahead.

Nodding, the agent pressed another button. The image adopted static as it was fast-forwarded, papers flying in the wind and the janitor passing on his way to pick up the trash comically fast. But then, the image stopped and cleared as N pressed pause.

Danny's eyes widened. There he was on-screen, fully human and Valerie's red suit gunning after him. It was when Technus had taken over, during the week-long fiasco of his doomed romance with the huntress.

Double V smirked at the teen's flabbergasted expression. "I assume, everything makes sense now?"

Danny couldn't even nod back dumbly. His mouth was open in shock, and all he could do was stare as Agent N pressed play.

The video-him continued a running step, a determined frown on his face. Suddenly, he spun around, landing in a fighting stance as he did so, and glared up at Valerie's possessed suit. The familiar rings of his transformation appeared on his waist.

Mercifully, there was no sound on the video, so the agents could not hear when Technus cheerfully berated his young foe—"Ah ah _ahh_! Careful. Secret identity, remember?"—and only saw him point to the camera.

The on-screen Danny glared up the device, and the rings vanished. Technus continued to speak and even aimed his (stolen) weapon at the boy, but the interesting part had passed. The rest of the video was just a ghost fight, and the GiW could care less.

Agent N paused the video, clicking a button so the lights would turn back on.

"So," Agent Double V drawled, lifting an eyebrow at Danny's dropped jaw. He cleared his throat, and the boy jumped, muttering an apology as he turned in his seat, his eyes downcast. Double V frowned. "Mind telling us what that was just now, kid?"

"Uh, me running away from the Red Huntress?" Danny asked hopefully, looking up at the agent. "Duh."

Double V was not moved. "You know what we're asking. _What was that?_ Those...those...—_rings_."

The boy shrugged. "Beats me. How the heck am I supposed to know?"

Double V glowered at him for a second, before, sighing, he reached into the file still on the tabletop. He slammed down two pictures. When Danny looked at them, he winced. "These are pictures taken of Phantom when he is running low on energy," the man explained coldly, "with those _same rings_ at his waist." He shoved the photos in Danny's direction. "Mind explaining _that_?"

_Stay aloof_, Danny told himself. _Pretend you don't know anything. Be as clueless as people always tell you you are_. He shrugged again. "I don't know. A trick of the light, maybe?" He hesitated for a second before blinking dumbly, hoping it looked convincing.

The dark-skinned man practically snarled, his metal chair falling back loudly as he bolted up from his seat. "Don't play dumb," Double V growled, his sunglasses flashing in the fluorescent lights. He barred his teeth. "Tell me what that was, boy!"

Perhaps, if he hadn't been through worse confrontations than this, Danny would've paled or, at the very least, been somewhat intimidated. That, however, was not the case, and one of Danny's eyebrows raised without his conscious consent. "Tell you what?" he asked, not being able to keep the irritation from his voice. "I don't _know_ what those rings were."

"Somehow, I just don't believe you," the agent stated flatly. He collected his discarded photos and put them in his file, turning on his heel. "Apprehend him."

"_What?_" Danny managed to screech before, quite abruptly, Agent N was on him, pinning his arms behind his back. "You can't do this to me! I'm just a kid!"

Agent Double V paused, inclining his head so he could stare at the boy struggling in N's grip. "I do believe," he said dryly, "that only a few minutes ago you were stating you were _not_ a kid. Which gives us the consent to try and treat you as an adult."

Danny's eyes widened, and his struggling momentarily ceased. "What? No it doesn't!"

"Oh, you bet it does!" Agent N exclaimed loudly in Danny's ear, making the boy flinch. He forced him to reach a standing position, straining Danny's arms painfully until he gave a cry.

Double V had reached the door by this point, and he stood on the threshold, seeming to contemplate before finally speaking. "You see, Mr. Phantom, the Guys in White do not stand for possession of an innocent child. Your stay here will be indefinite, and I guarantee, not be at all pleasant."

For the third time in just as many minutes, Danny's heart seemed to stop, and he whispered, "What?"

"Perhaps, one day, if we do not accidentally melt you down to pure ectoplasmic remains, you will be able to see the light of day again." With that, Double V disappeared out the hallway.

Danny could only give another cry as Agent N pushed a device into his back, and his vision and actions were suddenly clouded by darkness.

* * *

_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._  
**_~Plotted and Requested by _NeverEnough15_.~  
_**_(Don't forget to REVIEW, people!)_**_  
_**


	17. Away From Home

_A/N: Hello, my pretties! Miss me? I sure hope so because here's another update, yet another installment in my Request Saga!_

_This one was requested by _**BrandyMyDog**_ over ten months ago. I know. I'm _such_ a good person with time maintenance, ain't I? (That was sarcasm there, folks. Love_ _it.) Anyway, there's not much to say other than a very squeal-y and girly, "Thank you, Brandy! I hope you like it! Tell me if you don't, so I can go cry in a corner... I mean, re-do it. Totally meant re-do it." ;) _

_Another thing: you guys are getting it now! Huzzah! Keep the reviews coming, I'll keep replying, and even though NaNoWriMo is two days away, there's another update coming next weekend._

_Enjoy my non-subtle angst and hurt.~_

* * *

_"In order to understand the world, one has to turn away from it on occasion."_  
**_~ Albert Camus_**

* * *

**Away From Home**

* * *

She shifted her weight, leaning heavily on her weapon. She was poised, ready, a force to be reckoned with.

And he was trapped. He swallowed, taking another step behind him. Again, the ghost shield snapped to life, shooting electricity into his system, causing him to flinch before staring back at the woman in front of him. His lower lip quivered. _Mom._ "Let me go," he said fearfully. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Nothing wrong?" she laughed. Her gun slightly moved, but it was no more than an inch, not allowing him the space required to escape. It stayed precisely poised to shoot the trapped ghost. "You, Phantom," she snapped, the street light gleaming off of her goggles, "are a menace to all the world. You've done plenty wrong. Your very _existence_ is wrong!"

Danny cowered under her, careful not to lean too far back to touch the shield. He knew she didn't mean it—not really. She didn't know who he was, and if she did, she wouldn't be doing this. She would help him, accept him... Right?

He shook his head against the thought. Right now, the emotional stuff didn't matter. All that was important was that he got out of here with all his molecules in tact. Once more glancing at his mother's crouched position, he leapt into the air, turning invisible as he flew past her.

He heard her shocked gasp, her angry growl. What he didn't hear was the snap of the gun before the blast impacted.

Stars shinned against his pupils as he howled in pain, losing his hold on invisibility and the ability to fly in the same breath. He crashed against the brick wall, feeling his head snap against the hard surface. There were tears in his eyes—tears of pain—but those were easily ignored. His hand traveled to his side without his consent, feeling the raw flesh under his fingertips. The burn was unbearable, causing more moisture to pool into his eyes, but he couldn't look at the wound. Couldn't see the physical damage his own mother had inflicted upon him.

Heels clicked somewhere farther down the alley. "Tssk, tssk," Maddie consoled in a sing-song voice, false remorse dripping from her tone, "look what you've gone and made me do. My gun lost some its charge." She looked at his form, tangled in a heap of limbs, and her expression melted into distaste. The gun whined as she turned it towards the ghost, her face contorted in fury. "You won't escape, Phantom. Don't even try it again, or I might not be so generous next time."

"That was generous?" Danny muttered angrily. He cringed the moment the words escaped his lips. The witty comebacks came almost naturally now when he was in the heat of battle, but he knew that, this time, it wasn't a battle. If he didn't escape—and soon—the woman that had given birth to him would gladly destroy him.

Maddie grimaced. "Snippy one, aren't you?" she said bitterly. She turned a knob on her weapon, keeping an eye on her target. "Let's see how you like not being able to stand, let alone _talk_." The bright blast shot out from the barrel of the gun, heading straight for Danny.

His eyes widened as the world slowed. There was no way to stop the blast; it was going to hit him, it was going to kill him. He did the only thing he could possibly do to stay alive: he picked up both of his arms, ignoring the pain shooting up his limbs, and shot right back, turning his face against the brightness.

Green lightning exploded from his hands, completely obliterating the small blast from the ecto-gun.

And then, a scream resounded, echoing around the damp alley. Danny didn't stop; he didn't understand. He continued to pour power into his hands, his misery feeding the explosion. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and all he could do was fear for his life.

When he finally stopped, his hands smoking and singed, there a wet flop nearby, followed closely by a rusted clatter. The rusty item bounced off the concrete, tumbling noisily until it gently hit Danny's shoe.

He blinked, his breathing ragged, and stared down at the object. It was the ecto-gun—burnt, crisp, charred and broken beyond repair. Danny sniffled, reaching out to touch the scorched metal. His first thought was that his mom was going to kill him for ruining one of her precious inventions.

As he inspected the metal, his body aching, a smoke cloud called his attention. He turned to look at the source of the steam, placing the ecto-gun at his side.

His breathing stopped. Horror washed through him as he stared at her, a different type of tear building in his eyes. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be true.

"No," he gasped. "No no _no!_" He jumped to his feet, stumbling backwards as a physical pain rushed through his legs. He easily ignored that, continuing to stagger awkwardly, tendering his injured side, as he made his way towards her.

More tears dripped down, and it was impossible to stop the onslaught of guilt. He had caused this. He was to blame. If he simply hadn't...

Hadn't what? Fought back? If he hadn't defended himself, he would be the one lying on the ground, wounds seeping, a blank stare to his face.

Danny crashed to his knees beside her, sobbing. All the better. Better him than her. He was the monster, just like she'd said; not her. She didn't deserve to—

He wailed loudly, sobbing beside his mother's smoking corpse for a long moment. The tears ran dry eventually, leaving him to stare at her—afraid to touch her, afraid to leave. The moonlight shinned down upon the alley in which his mother had first cornered him, gently engulfing him in the ethereal light.

He couldn't go back home. His life was over. As much as he would like to rekindle with his family, help them through their mourning, he wouldn't be able to look at them anymore—not if he was the one to cause the tragedy.

He sucked in a ragged breath and placed his hand over her chest. His hand glowed blue for a small second before he removed it, leaving a small crystal heart behind.

And he shot up into the sky, unable to look back at the macabre scene of his mother, her blank eyes staring after him.

* * *

Danny stumbled on his feet, jumbling between the people. "Excuse me," he murmured dully. "Excuse me." He kept his head low, stuffed deep inside the shadows of his hoodie. Not that anyone cared to look down at the kid in the midst, but he couldn't risk anyone identifying him.

After Vlad had heard of him running away, a hefty reward had been put out for his "safe return home." As if. The fruit loop probably wanted him as some type of bait, or experiment, or maybe just so he could enact some act of revenge. Whatever the case was, it had taken weeks before he was able to walk out in the open without fear of someone recognizing him.

Danny bit his lip, shrinking deeper into his hood as he passed the police station. There, on the wall with the missing children, was his freshman picture, all smiles and ignorance. But those days were far gone.

He continued to walk, making a chore out of avoiding the masses as they slipped past him. Occasionally, someone would call out to him, probably to offer drugs or some other illegal substance, but he never turned around. He kept walking, trying to ignore the world around him...

And his aching stomach.

He frowned as his stomach roared for the fourth time in the hour, contracting uncomfortably. He hadn't allowed himself to use his powers—not since... the accident. That meant, there was no way to get food, at least not legally. But after a botched attempt at stealing some fruit from a street vendor that had resulted in being chased down the street by a grown man waving around a broom, he hadn't even considered the possibility of doing it again. Right now, he was living off of restaurant trash and cold, moldy leftovers. Yum.

Danny scrunched up his nose, the memory of the smell of his previous dinners making his stomach churn more uncomfortably than before. With the pangs of hunger that seemed to intensify with every step, that was actually quite a feat.

He sighed, his worn sneakers scuffling against the pavement as he neared the intersection between Bridley Avenue and the highway. _Almost home_, he thought sarcastically, a scowl managing to squirm its way onto his face. "Yeah," he said aloud, "some home."

Cars roared above his head on the interstate, keeping the noise level at a constant high. Danny didn't mind it so much anymore. After the months spent awake in his little makeshift place, staring up above with his nightmares being his only companion, the roar of car engines and rubber wheels rolling on asphalt was almost comforting.

With a roll of his eyes, he started to unzip his sweater. "Living underneath a bridge," he mumbled sourly, folding the fabric haphazardly in his hands when he was done. "How far the superhero has come, really."

He made his way over to the desecrated mattress he called his bed and plopped down, ignoring the puff of dirt that flew off as he did so. After waiting a short beat to place his folded sweater at the forefront of the mattress to use it as a pillow, Danny settled down, rolling onto his back so he could stare up at the bottom of the highway. He studied the graffiti and filth before closing his eyes and exhaling loudly.

That's when the beeping finally registered in his mind.

He sprung up immediately, his eyes wide as he searched the perimeter hysterically, trying to discern the source of the mysterious sound. It didn't take long to locate the source—and the fact that it was getting closer and louder with each passing second. Another few moments, and the natural hill that led up to his home would reveal whatever it was that was after him.

After all, being half-ghost, Danny could immediately recognize ghost-detecting software. That particular instrument just so happened to be tuned in on his ecto-signature; he could tell by the beeps that were increasing in intervals as it neared.

Now, he had a choice to make. Use his powers—and have to deal with the nightmares and reminders that came with them—or risk dashing off as a human and being caught.

His mind flashed to a pristine, white laboratory filled with pointy and lethal objects that would be used to dissect him if he was ever apprehended, and he shuddered, shaking his head against the image. _Well, the second option's out_, he thought to himself sarcastically.

Suddenly, grass shuddered under feet only a few yards away, breaking tiny twigs and debris with each footfall. They'd reached him.

Swallowing his gasp, Danny barely made the frantic thought before he escaped from the visible spectrum and let himself roll out of his mattress and onto the dirt that surrounded him.

In the same moment the dust cleared from the halfa's sudden shift, two figures rose from the hill, pointing a ridiculous-looking machine Danny easily recognized as one of his father's inventions in all directions. At the sight, Danny's heart constricted, and he closed his eyes tight, not allowing his suddenly-wet eyes to overflow. _Dad_, he thought miserably, holding back a sob.

In his misery, one of the figures chose that moment to speak. "He's not here," a definite feminine voice said. Surprisingly, the tone was not filled with contempt or even the slightest bit of ire. In fact, it sounded strangely disappointed—and familiar.

Another voice answered the female, one that was even more familiar than the first. "He's gotta be here somewhere," a male voice said. "Just look—this thing is going crazy!"

Danny couldn't take it. Maybe it was his misery, maybe it was the incessant beeping the contraption was doing, or maybe it was his ache at the familiarity of the two voices, but he opened his eyes.

Standing before him, looking worse for wear and incredibly defeated, were Danny's best friends, their miserable expressions almost trifling his. Almost, but not quite.

But at the sight of them, Danny couldn't help but feel some of the heaviness in his heart lift, and he immediately sprung up on his feet, let go of his invisibility, and nearly tackled the two teenagers in a bone-crushing hug. Screw the consequences. His friends were here—actually here in front of him and not just in his dreams.

"Danny!" they both exclaimed in earnest once they figured who had embraced them.

The tears streaming down Danny's cheeks were relentless, and for the first time in months, he smiled wholeheartedly. "Sam! Tucker! I've missed you guys so much..."

* * *

_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._  
**_~Plotted and Requested by _BrandyMyDog_.~_**


	18. Continuum

_A/N: Hiya, people! I'm ba-a-ack! If you want to see my progress on this year's NaNo, here's the URL: [ nanowrimo . com /en/participants/sundaysundaes ] Remove the spaces, obviously._

_This here one-shot is for _**TwilightObsessed91**_, who just asked for something with Clockwork in it. Mission accomplished on that! The only thing is, I inadvertently invented a pairing while I was writing it. Oops. Either way, hope ya like it! __:D __(And, I've decided, I'm going to make an Ancient-based one-shot, simply because I already fleshed them out so much in my mind.)  
_

_And, people, I love ya, but I also love reviews. Let's see if this helps. Leave. A. Review. After. You. Finish. Reading. Got it? Got it.  
_

* * *

_"Space by itself, and Time by itself, are doomed to fade away in mere shadows, and only a kind union of the two will preserve an independent reality."_  
**_~ Albert Einstein_**

* * *

**Continuum**

* * *

His name was a whispered breath on the mouth of every ghost, his entire being molded into things of legend and myth. _Clockwork, the Lord of Time_, they called him, their eyes wide with awe and admiration, seeming to hesitate in uttering the last, known Ancient's name.

For her, it was much different. She was not part of the regular gossip of every ghost, nor was she well-known to those who had not seen at least their first ten millennia as posthumous beings. However, to those that _did_ speak her name, they did so in a whisper, fear making their tones quiver, as if even muttering her name would bring forth her terrifying wrath._ Khôra, the Mistress of Space._

There was only one being that had never been intimidated by Khôra, or her devastating power, and that was Clockwork himself, who'd been her closest friend and confident ever since the very concept of space-time had been created, billions upon trillions of years ago.

It was for this reason—their comradeship that had spread throughout an infinity—that Clockwork was not afraid when Khôra burst into his castle, her ivory hair aflame and pupil-less, red eyes flashing. He merely raised an eyebrow at the other Ancient's behavior and asked dryly, "Am I right to assume this is not a social visit?"

Khôra, long used to Clockwork's subtle quips, growled and rushed forward to jab a blue-tinted finger into the time ghost's chest. "This. Is. _Your_. Fault," she snarled, stabbing her finger into Clockwork's chest after each word for emphasis.

Clockwork silently shifted from a young man to an elderly one, but that didn't deter Khôra from continuing to her assault, which would've been many times more frightening if she wasn't resorting to a playground method of intimidation. "You're overestimating my omniscience again, Khôra," Clockwork said simply, letting his face fall back to an emotionless mask. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Khôra gave one last forceful jab to the time master's chest, forcing him to backtrack slightly. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about, Clockwork!" she shouted, pointing the tip of her spiraling, ebony staff at him. "The first time, I let it slide, but now, you are endangering both worlds by forcing Vivè and D'hue to try to be harmonious_—again_."

Clockwork didn't even bat an eye. "Vivè and D'hue have danced around each other since we introduced life, Khôra. Suggesting they make peace every once in a while is vital for the survival of the worlds."

"_Suggesting_?" Khôra screeched, her hair dancing wildly. "What you did was _not_ a suggestion, Clockwork. As the keepers of life and death, Vivè and D'hue are _meant_ to continually skirt around each other, never touching. I thought you understood that, yet you purposefully interfered."

"I understand," Clockwork admitted calmly, floating backwards until he reached one of his many screens, "just as I understand your misunderstanding of what I am trying to convey." He turned, dipping part of his own staff into the swirling, green portal before him. The emerald color distorted, spinning into itself until an image of an underground laboratory was left behind. At the center of the scene, a white-haired ghost was laying unconscious on the floor, two humans circling around him worriedly. "I take it, this is the boy who has caused you so much grief?" Clockwork asked, motioning to the ghost.

Khôra snarled, a feral sound which would send any regular being—mortal and immortal alike—running for their existences. However, Clockwork was not a regular being, so he stayed where he was, calmly floating, at the foot of his screen. "The _boy_ does not cause me grief, Clockwork," she ground out. "It is _you_—you and your pompous morals—that causes me _grief_."

Clockwork remained silent for a long second, frowning, before he waved a hand over the screen and let the image return to the swirling green plasma. He turned toward Khôra hesitantly, his brow furrowed together. "Do I truly cause you grief, my dear?" This, he did not ask in his regular, steady, monotonous pitch; his voice was softer now, somehow saddened and morose. He shifted into a child, but the expression on his face did not change.

The mistress of space stared at Clockwork's cherub face, her expression stony. After a second of this, however, she sagged and sighed heavily, floating forward to envelop the time ghost in a hug. He inhaled sharply at the contact but didn't move away from her, even as he shifted forms yet again. "I don't like berating you, Clockwork," Khôra whispered against his chest, her face still scrunched in anger. Her hair had ceased flaming like a spectral fire, though, so at least that was something. "You're my closest friend," she continued softly.

"As you are mine."

She half-smiled. "My oldest companion," she said, unable to keep the humor from her tone. "Older than time itself."

Clockwork nodded, unabashed. "Naturally."

Khôra let out a small laugh and then untangled herself from Clockwork, drifting backwards to stare at his youthful, handsome face. Abruptly, the young face was gone, and he was an old man once more. "I respect you," she told him kindly, continuing to stare into his eyes, "and I admire your wisdom and cool wit. However, this does not save you the scolding of bringing into the worlds these—these..." She struggled for the proper world. "Those—"

"Halfas," Clockwork supplied helpfully.

Khôra quirked an eyebrow in curiosity but didn't question it. "Halfas, then," she said quickly. "You have brought these halfas into existence, knowing exactly what the repercussions would be—"

"Ah, but that is where you're incorrect, my dear," the time ghost interrupted, a tiny smile gracing his aged face. "I've known the set of consequences which would rise from the first halfa's birth, how he would become corrupted with power and would see the world as a game to be won, endangering us all."

Khôra frowned, and her hair seemed to spark. "Which is why I advised you to never mix life and death in the first place," she said angrily.

Clockwork shook his head, the smile not leaving his face. "Noted, but the true goal was never the rise of first halfa. It was that of the second." He raised his staff above his head, and immediately, the hundreds of screens in the room lit up. In each, the white-haired ghost from before stood or sat or lied, sometimes grinning and sometimes bawling, several with green eyes and a few with red. Although the theme was the same for all of the screens—that nameless, white-haired halfa and the chronicles of his life—they each were different, showing a different situation, a different outcome.

And, Khôra realized, gasping, a different timeline.

"You see," Clockwork continued, unable to keep the glee from his voice, "this halfa—his actions are unpredictable, forever changing. I cannot track the consequences that his life and afterlife will bring." He gestured towards the unblinking screens surrounding him animatedly. "From the moment he was created, thousands of different timelines sprang forth, unintelligible to even me."

Khôra's hair burst into flames. "You endangered the time-stream?_!_" she roared, her teeth grinding together. She gripped her staff tighter, which was the only thing keeping her from springing forward and strangling the still-grinning time master.

"I might've," Clockwork admitted, no hesitation in his voice. "Or I might've not. It depends on the boy's choices."

"You're willing to wager the existence of all creatures on the choices of one mortal _boy_?"

"As a matter of fact, I am." He drifted forward, and, at his bidding, two screens flew down to meet him. The images they presented were eerily similar, yet couldn't have been more different. Clockwork gestured to his screens. "What do you see?" he asked tenderly.

"The boy," Khôra answered immediately, clipping the word '_boy_'.

Clockwork sighed, silently shifting forms. "No. I meant, what do you see _specifically_ about the images?"

Khôra squinted tightly. "I see the boy," she said more slowly than before, studying the screens, "at...some type of coronation?" She raised her eyes to Clockwork. "Where is he? A ceremony, I'm assuming, of course, but for what?"

The child-like ghost hesitated but ultimately told her the truth. "Your first guess was correct," he admitted, eying her warily to gauge her reaction. "He's being crowned High King of All Ghosts in both images."

"_What?_" Khôra cried out hysterically before Clockwork could fully finish his sentence. "_High King_? Clockwork! That's—why would—he—WHAT?" She shook her herself, trying to regain her composure and stop her useless spluttering. "Have you lost your _mind_?" she said after a long beat. "You know perfectly well just how terrible the _previous_ High King was. Do wish to repeat those horrible events?"

Clockwork remained impassive. "I am not saying that is what will occur," he stately matter-of-factly. "These two events are simply fleeting glimpses into something that _may_ come to pass. Please remember, as I said before, when it comes to this boy nothing is set in stone." He paused to make sure the space keeper had nothing to input before continuing. "Now, take a look at the screens again. Note the differences. What do you see?"

Khôra gave him a hard look, until, sighing, she returned her gaze to the images. "He's different in each," she noted with interest, curiosity eating away at her anger.

"Clarify the differences to me, if you will."

She pointed to the image to the left. "This one—the one with the green eyes—he seems almost nervous." Her head tilted, her eyes closing as she tried to prod the edges of that timeline. A smile split her face as the feeling swarmed around her inner-mind. "Benevolent," she sighed happily. "He's benevolent. A kind, humble youth if there ever was one, and, indeed, very powerful." Her eyes fluttered open, and she turned her smile to Clockwork. "Is this why you're willing to risk the time-stream?" she asked gently. "If that is his future, then both worlds have a chance of existing side-by-side without conflict. Truly, it is something even I—omnipresent as I am—could not have foreseen."

Clockwork nodded, smiling back at her. But, then, his smile fell, and he motioned with his chin to the screen on her right which she had ignored. "Yes, I am risking the future of existence for the peace that will extend for eons under his good rule, but it is not a risk without a heavy price to pay."

Confused, Khôra turned to the right screen. The boy on it had crimson irises instead of green, and he seemed to have abandoned any sense of humility as he knelt proudly when being crowned, smirking arrogantly as his flame-like hair scorched any flesh it touched. Almost hesitantly, Khôra closed her eyes and opened her mind to the place surrounding that crimson-eyed boy. Immediately, she cried out in pain and severed the connection, her eyes snapping open.

Clockwork was at her side in an instant. He cradled her shoulders as she tried to steady her breathing, his long, white beard tickling her chin. "What did you feel?" he asked in a whisper.

"S-s-so much hate," Khôra whispered back, for the first time in her eternal existence truly afraid. "An evil that trumps even that of Pariah's. An unprecedented loathing for both worlds. Malevolence incarnate. Malevolent and frighteningly powerful." She looked up into Clockwork's eyes, her own red ones wide with fear. "It can't be. How can that kind, gentle soul of before be one in the same with this monster?"

"Devastation," Clockwork replied quietly, staring at her sadly. "A complete and utter loss of morality and humanity when the ones he loves are blown to bits in front of his eyes."

"Oh, goodness," she breathed in horror. "No one with that much power can witness the cutting of the ties of love without losing all mora—" Her eyes widened as she realized what she was saying. She yanked herself out of Clockwork's embrace and focused her eyes on the right screen. "There has to be a way to prevent it," Khôra declared, as if by merely stating it aloud it would increase its possibility.

"Like I said before, the boy's choices are what dictate how the future will play out. Even I can't prevent it from happening that way, no matter how much I may want to." Clockwork frowned. "For the first time, my art has joined yours in the abstract."

"Is... is there really _nothing_ we can do, my friend?" Khôra questioned softly.

"'Nothing' is such an absolute term," the ghost of time stated. "I can guide him towards the choices that will give us the future we crave, the future of hope and happiness and peace. That's all I can do, however, as execution—something the Observants will ask of me in the near future; I'm almost positive—will just cause the collapse of the worlds."

There was a few minutes of companionable, musing silence. Then, Khôra chuckled under her breath.

Clockwork raised an eyebrow at her behavior, although he couldn't stop the smile that bloomed on his face upon hearing such a light sound come from her mouth. "After our apocalyptic-based conversation, laughter doesn't seem very appropriate, Khôra," he teased.

"Sorry. It's just... a _boy_?" Again, she chuckled. "A boy—no longer a child, not yet a man. It baffles me to believe that he holds the key to either the destruction or salvation of the worlds."

"It will baffle all," Clockwork agreed, nodding. "However, until the time comes, there is nothing either of us can do but wait and see." He offered his hand to the ghost of space, until, smiling, she took it, weaving her fingers through his. "Come, then, my dear. Join me in my constant observance. It is surely to be more interesting than your constant _lingering_."

Khôra laughed: a short, trilling sound that made Clockwork grin. "This is why you're my best friend."

"And you are mine."

Smiling at each other, Time led Space further into his castle, hand-in-hand—together—like they would be for the rest of eternity.

* * *

_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinemas._  
**_~Plotted and Requested by _TwilightObsessed91.~**  
_Review._


	19. Of Red Bullets

_A/N: Okay. Let's start out with the long-overdue apology: I'm so sorry, guys! The past month has been...well, it's been a depressing/hectic/traumatizing/exhausting month. I kid you not when I say that for _three weeks straight_ I got no more than 3 to 6 of sleep _per night_. There was no such thing as goofing off or the Internet. Everything was work, work, work. But I'm back and staying back, dammit!_

_(And, on a side note, NaNo was a success that totally fried my brain. I suck at being a playwright. People who can't learn their lines in a ten-minute play in less than a week anger me. Everything academics-related can bite me.)  
_

_Anyways, life aside, here's the next request-thing! It's for _**hawkflyer667**_, who probably expected epicness but got this instead. Trust me, hawkie, it was supposed to be epic, with epic scenes of epic dodging and epic aerial moves. Then, the story got away from me and decided to be Humor. :| I blame it all on Danny and his in-character moments._

_Anywho, review, love, and review. I'll see ya soon, my pretties.  
_

* * *

_"Fear not those who argue, but those who dodge."_  
**_~ Dale Carnegie_**

* * *

**Of Red Bullets**

* * *

It was a great and marvelous day. The sun was shinning. The birds were singing. The crazed reporters obsessed with Danny Phantom were still off their rocker and currently stalking Casper High School... Truly, it was a great day to enjoy being alive, to bask in the glory of it all with a fun game of—

"Dodge ball," Danny said flatly, frowning. "You can't be serious."

Coach Tetslaff nodded briskly, a grimace-like smile splitting her face. "This class is dedicated to you, Mr. Fenton. All the best athletes and potential ghost hunters are in here to help you master your abilities."

Sparing her a calculating glance, the teenager turned his attention behind her, where a melee of various students were assembled as they awaited another gym class to start. His eyes zeroed in on one figure in particular, and he turned a scrutinizing look to Tetslaff. "Paulina?" he asked mockingly, his eyebrows raised.

"Okay," the coach admitted, grinning wider. "Some of these kids just signed up for the show. Which is why we're starting out with dodge ball—no real athletic skill required; just some ball-throwing."

Danny sighed and crossed his arms, looking away from her. "I still can't believe my parents commissioned this class," he grumbled sourly. "It's like public humiliation one-oh-one."

"And you have absolutely no say in the matter!" Tetslaff happily reminded him. "Now, get into position behind the blue line." She gestured to line made out of blue tape that cut the gymnasium into two equal halves.

"You mean the one with the rope and all that gymnastic equipment in it?" he questioned, slightly surprised. Now, what the heck was he going to do with a balance beam and two hanging rings? Didn't they realize he could _fly_? Still, he walked over there without waiting for Tetslaff respond.

"That's the way, Mr. Fenton!" she said anyway, almost like a cheer.

Danny rolled his eyes at her too-enthusiastic tone, continuing to walk calmly until he reached the balance beam and leaned against it casually, hitching one foot on it for extra comfort. Although the constant amount of praise was immensely flattering (at first, that is), he was getting down-right tired of everyone trying to get on his good side. At least, the people of Casper High finally seemed to understand that he didn't like being gawked at like a walking miracle—even though, technically, he was one—and kept their flattery in the "Annoying" category, instead of the "Creepy" one.

Of course, the one exception to that just so happened to be Paulina, but he mostly managed to avoid her cutesy notes and rag-tag team of other crazy "phans", thereby eliminating that problem.

"Danny! Danny! Look over here, Danny! Look what _I'm_ doing! Aren't I cute?"

Her just so happening to be in his gym period changed that small fact—but just by a smidgen.

"_Danny!_"

Danny flinched away from her high-pitched squeal. _Okay. Maybe a little bit more than smidgen_, he admitted to himself, rubbing his left ear with the palm of his hand. Curse the fact that his sensitive hearing had migrated to his human half as well as his ghost half. Curse it all the way to the never-ending Pit of Despair in the Ghost Zone.

Just as he was about to open his eyes after messaging the pain away from his poor ears, another equally-painful screech resounded around the gym, causing him to yelp and, in an act of extreme grace, fall onto the floor in a heap of limbs. The impact didn't really hurt, but he rubbed his head anyway out of habit, grumbling under his breath. When he finally managed to raise himself to his feet and picked up his head, still rubbing it, all fifty-some students and teachers were staring at him, like if they couldn't believe a hero like him could have a random act of clumsiness.

"Um, ta-dah?" Danny asked unsurely, trying to smile.

A single laugh pierced through the silence, clearly feminine but most definitely not a giggle. The laughter's owner most certainly did _not_ giggle, and if she ever did, it was only ever in private, thank you very much. The owner of the non-giggle was Sam Manson, holding her middle as she shook from her guffaws.

Danny let a small smile grace his face as he watched her until he, too, gave into the temptation and bent over in laughter, clutching his hair tightly. "Oops!" he said too-loudly, causing Sam to go into another laughing fit.

The rest of students in the gymnasium stared at them like they were crazy, though they quickly filed it away as another lovebird moment. One of the teens, who just so happened to be the president of the photography club, took out a camera and snapped two pictures of the laughing couple. Paulina simply scowled, forgetting for a moment that it could cause premature wrinkles, and crossed her arms over her chest.

The laughter went on for another half-minute, where it started to die away in random bursts of chuckles and coughs. When all had been silent for a full ten-second period, Coach Tetslaff raised eyebrow and asked around her whistle, "Are you two done yet?"

"No," Danny and Sam replied instantly, perfectly synchronized. They caught the other's eye and promptly burst into another laugh attack.

"Lovebirds," someone muttered from the crowd of teenagers.

Tetslaff, having had enough, blew her whistle again, which immediately stopped all sound in the room, including the laughter. "Mr. Fenton, Miss Manson," she snapped, her face red with anger, "would you _please_ cease that infernal racket and let me resume my class!" It wasn't a question, even though it was structured as one. It was a flat, cold, old-fashioned order.

Sam muttered something under her breath that he didn't quite catch, but Danny simply grinned and said enthusiastically, "Yes, ma'am!" That was the first time he'd gotten close to getting in trouble in _weeks_—a true record—and he greedily clung onto that branch of normalcy. Idly, he wondered if that made him a masochist.

"Thank you," Tetslaff huffed, her face slowly returning to its regular color. Turning back to the crowd, she clapped twice and gestured widely for the students to step forward. "Everyone!" she barked. "In front of the blue line! Now!"

Obediently, the students complied, some running to their spots and others walking at a much calmer pace. Danny's smile fell when Paulina winked at him flirtatiously as she swaggered to her spot. The grin was back full-force, though, when he caught Sam's eye and she made a grotesque gagging motion.

When everyone was situated, Tetslaff pulled the four-rowed rack of bright red rubber balls next to her and pushed it towards the center of the court. "This," she stated blandly, grabbing a ball and placing it between both hands, "is your weapon." Roughly, she threw the ball to a small blond boy in front of her; he barely caught the red object, stumbling with it before cradling it to his chest protectively. She pointed to the crowd of teenagers, her finger sweeping through all of them. "You," she continued, "are the enemy. Mr. Fenton is the hero."

Danny pursed his lips, his face scrunching together as he thought. They were training the kids in Casper to be villains—to hunt their teen ghost-hero without reason? Maybe it was just him, but that seemed a little counterproductive. He let it go, though, when he saw the devastated and horror-stricken looks the students were giving their coach.

"Now, don't worry," Coach Tetslaff placated. "It's only a game to test Mr. Fenton's abilities—"

"But we already know that Danny can kick butt!" a loud voice argued from within the crowd. It sounded like Dash Baxter, Danny's old tormentor and now 'phan'.

Tetslaff narrowed her eyes, subduing all the muttering that had gone up after that declaration. She waited a few more seconds in tense silence before continuing. "Yes, Mr. Baxter," she said slowly, her eyes still in slits, "as you so eloquently put it, Mr. Fenton _can_ 'kick butt'. However, can he still do it without the help of his ghost powers?"

"Who-da-what-now?" Danny asked in surprise, having been listening as Tetslaff instructed her students and cutting off whatever she was about to say. He put his hands up. "Who said anything about no ghost powers?"

The large woman turned her glare to the half-ghost. Danny couldn't help but flinch. "I did," Tetslaff said simply. "Right now."

"But—"

"No buts."

"But—"

"I _said_, 'no _buts_!' That's _final_!"

Danny made a very un-heroic sound at the back of his throat. "Y-y-yes, ma'am," he stuttered out. "No ghost powers. Got it." He tried to give her his best crowd-pleasing smile, but all he truly managed was a shaky thumbs-up. From the other side of the blue line, he heard Sam snicker.

Coach Tetslaff continued to glare. Then, quite abruptly, she smiled her grimace-like smile and kicked the rack of red balls beside her to the floor with the back of her foot. Everyone who wasn't the masculine female teacher flinched at the sound of the metal coming into contact with the hard-wood flooring and watched as the red balls jumped away from the center of the gym and into various corners. "Well, then," Tetslaff said happily, "if we will have no more _distractions_ and _unnecessary input_, we can get on with it."

A petite redhead raised her arm from within the crowd. "Um, but what are we doing exactly?"

"Have you not been paying attention to single word that I have _said_?" Tetslaff roared. She bent down to pick up a random ball that had rolled beneath her. "Dodge ball. Now. Everyone versus Danny Phantom sans the ghost powers." Then, she threw the ball in her grasp to the unsuspecting, flabbergasted half-ghost in their midst.

The little red ball was fast. But Danny was faster, even as a human. The moment he registered danger, he flung himself on all fours, deftly dodging the rubber projectile well before it zoomed past the top of his head. When the ball did indeed fly past him and subsequently smacked against the gymnasium wall, Danny was already back on his feet, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "What did you do _that_ for?" he asked angrily. "That thing could've hit me!"

"I do believe that's the point of dodge ball, Mr. Fenton," Tetslaff replied easily, grabbing the whistle hanging around her neck and placing it inside her mouth. This time, Danny was prepared when the coach blew into her tiny, ear-splitting instrument, so there was no repeat of the day's earlier occurrence. Tetslaff didn't wait for anyone to recover from the sound before she jogged backwards to the sideline of the court and yelled, "Game on!"

"What?" Danny asked oh-so-smartly. In the next second, though, he was taking a nose-dive onto the floor as he caught sight of red blur about to come into contact with his skull. The ball bounced off the floor, having been effectively dodged, and Danny was once again back on his feet, looking for the person who had dared to throw the— "Sam?" Danny asked in surprise.

The Goth girl smirked, already embellishing another bright red ball for her to throw. "Just think of it as another training session, Danny," she said happily, then suddenly threw her weapon.

Again, Danny dodged, sidestepping this time. It wasn't long until more people started to join in on the ball-throwing, especially with Tetslaff screeching at the top of her lungs about how anyone who didn't participate would receive a failing grade. Slowly, it was becoming increasingly hard to dodge all the rubber bullets without somehow hitting them back over the blue line. He wasn't positive, but he was almost sure that _he_ wasn't allowed to try and hit anyone else. He became even more sure of this when Tetslaff came to his side of the court and nimbly began to throw the balls back to the other side.

He didn't have much time to think about this new revelation, because three projectiles were in the midst of smacking against him. After a quick surveillance, he realized there was no way to dodge, as another five little red missiles were to his left, right, and back. Now, normally, the idea of facing three rubber balls would've been laughably easy, as he could simply phase through them or blow them to bits with an ecto-blast. However, without the use of his ghost powers—and he really, _really_ didn't want to disobey Coach Tetslaff—everything had just become a lot harder.

Then, in a moment of absolute brilliance, Danny got it: the perfect way to dodge everything. The three most looming dangers were coming in succession, one after the other, not all at the same time. Scanning quickly, he soon detected which was the first that would hit. He had to move fast.

With new fervor, he took a wide step back, thereby coming into direct line of one of the five other trajectiles. By moving backwards, though, the first of the original three dangers had missed him. But now he was in direct path of another rubber rocket. Giving another quick scan, he moved left. _Smack!_ went the ball behind him. _Smack!_ went the second of the three. Without looking up again, he was already on the move to the right, hearing two of the five rubber balls smack against the floor. Then, the last of three finally hit as well, granting him a whole full-second to move to his original position before the last two of the five also smacked next to him.

All dangers having been avoided, Danny did the only thing any sane person could do: he burst out laughing. His miniature celebration was cut short, though, when something bright, red, and rubbery smacked him directly in the head.

"Hey! I hit him! I actually _hit_ Danny Phantom!"

Danny blinked—then, after realizing who it was that had hit him, promptly smacked himself in the head and groaned. Really? Of all people, did it really have to be—

"Good job, Mikey!"

Well. There went his street cred.

* * *

_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinemas._  
**_~Plotted and Requested by _hawkflyer667.~**  
_Review._


	20. Sly World

_A/N: Hallelujah, baby! It's DONE! This is the last request I'm going to do in a LONG, long time, so don't expect my 'January Request Month' to suddenly come back. I've learned my lesson. I'm never going to do this again (or, at least, not for a very long time)._

_Last, but certainly not least, is a request for _**Little Fox in the Stars**_. You don't understand how happy I am to finally be doing this one. Meep, I think I'm gonna cry, and I'm not sure if it's from joy or sadness because _this is the last one_!__ Whaaaa! D;  
_

_Anyway, that aside, hope you like it, Foxy. And hopefully, yours truly is going out with a BANG before coming back with her own original work. You'll just have to wait and see until next chapter! (And, just a head's up, this one-shot features the amazing Random POV Change, a cameo of Butch's original "psychic link" idea, and crappy editing! Try not to question it...)  
_

* * *

_"With foxes we must pay the fox."_  
**_~ Thomas Fuller_**

* * *

**Sly World  
**

* * *

So it hadn't been her best idea, so what? She'd definitely made worse decisions in her short life as a boy's female, half-ghost clone_—_the topmost of course being almost handing Danny over to that fruitloop she'd once called a father. Still, this one had to be one of the most humiliating.

Because she was running away.

From a fox.

"Get back here, child! You will _pay_ for your insolence!"

Dani groaned. Correction. She was a running away_—_flying away, same thing_—_from a_ talking_ fox. And the darn red-and-white fuzzball was gaining. So much for her gloating of being one of the fastest ghosts alive. (Get it? _Alive?_ Hah! She cracked herself up.)

The fact remained, though, that the large ghostly fox was right at her own ghostly tail, growling and snapping in the hope of finally managing to take a bite out of it. She yelped loudly when the animal almost succeeded in doing exactly that, flying away in a larger burst of speed. "It was a joke!" she yelled at him over her shoulder. "Can't you take a joke?"

He only growled in response, an animalistic sound that contradicted his normally-sophisticated tone. Which, naturally, had been the exact thing she had poked fun at when Dani'd first encountered the fox. But was her big mouth really her fault, considering she was spawned from a boy that shouted out puns at his opponents and she was raised by a man that was as narcissistic as they came?

Again, the fox came extremely close to clamping down its maw on her tail, forcing the ghost girl to abandon her internal musing and focus on an escape route.

Luckily for her, she spotted something in the distance and grinned. "Almost scotch-free," she muttered to herself, attempting to swerve around various purple doors to hopefully lose the animal. It worked (mostly), and she had time to crow into the air_—_"Oh, yeah! Take that, you sly little fox!"_—_before she looked forward again and flew, head-first, into the swirling green of an open Fenton Portal.

* * *

"...prove it to you," a clueless Danny Fenton was saying to his friends in his parent's lab/basement, holding in his hands a battered Fenton Thermos. "The ghosts always end up right outside the portal, which is why they come back so easily. I'll bet it's how the Box Ghost always ge_—_ AARGHH!"

Danny, who had been calmly walking to the control table at the side of the Fenton Portal, was suddenly thrown backwards by a medium-sized, black-and-white blur that'd just been catapulted from the recesses of the Ghost Zone. His dropped Thermos clattered as it fell to the floor and then rolled underneath the controls.

"Danny!" Sam and Tucker both exclaimed in a panic, already reaching for a weapon of some sort to try to help their half-ghost friend.

There was no need for that, considering Danny recognized the blur as soon as he hit the floor and the little glowing missile was floating above his head. "Danielle?" he asked in confusion, blinking up at his clone.

Dani smiled hastefully. "Oh, hey, Danny," she said in a rush. Then, noticing Sam and Tucker, she continued on in the same speed, "Hi, Danny's friends. Gee, I would really, really, _really_ like this little reunion all of us are having right now but if you could just tell me how to close the portal that'd be great, thanks."

Danny blinked again, slower this time. "Uhm..."

The girl grabbed him by his shirt collar, starting to shake him desperately. "Danny, this is important. I'm a little bit of trouble, and I really need to close the portal _right now_."

"Erm, but what for?"

"A ghost-fox is on my tail, and he's really mad so if you could just tell me what I need to know before he_—_"

"GIRL!" an accented voice screeched, followed closely by the fox to whom the voice belonged. The animal stalked forward, walking in midair. When he stopped above the two half-ghosts, he crouched in a springing position, his lips curled to show off a very menacing collection of fangs and canines. He opened his mouth to speak again, a voice which shouldn't have belonged to an animal of such ferocity sounding out, "There is no place for which you can flee. You're mine."

"Ah, crud," Dani grumbled, letting go of Danny and floating upwards, leaving him and his friends to gape openly at the scene as it started to unfold. "Too late."

The fox narrowed his eyes. "It is too late, indeed, child. Now," he paused, lowering the front portion of his body lower to the ground, his fire-like tail whipping in the air, "do you have any last words or requests before I condemn you to that of which you so mocked?"

"First of all," Dani started, floating backwards to put space between her and the glowing fox, "I have no idea what you just said, so I'm going to assume it was an insult. As for the 'last request' thing, I want you to just fly on back to the Ghost Zone and leave me alone, comprende?"

The animal chuckled. "Child, you are amusing," he said humorously. "That, however, does not excuse you from your satirization of who I am and who you will be. You will pay with your own existence!" He opened his mouth again, but this time to snarl at her, the sound making the girl flinch.

"Eep," she squeaked fearfully, floating shock-still in front of the ghost. After a moment of this, she glared out of the side of her eyes to Danny and hissed, "You're supposed to be helping me right about now!"

"Riiight," Danny drawled, nodding his head slowly. Obviously, he was confused beyond intelligent words, but it was more obvious that the fox was going to do something really unfriendly to his little clone if he didn't intervene_—_and soon. He cleared his throat, and the fox turned to him, closing its maw and tilting its head to the side rather cutely.

"Yes, older child?" he asked politely.

"Um, well," Danny spluttered, trying to come with the right words to say, "why_—_um_—_why are you after my little cousin?"

The fox frowned deeply_—_or, at least, made a motion with its mouth that certainly made it _look_ like it was frowning deeply. "I had no knowledge of the girl's kinship," he said sourly, "but it is not a matter of much importance to me. She jeered both at me and at my brethren_—_"

"For the last time, it was a _joke_!"

"_—_and for that she must suffer the consequences," the ghost-animal finished like if he hadn't been interrupted. He tipped his head to Danny and then turned back to the ghost girl. "But I do not have a quarrel with you, young one, and would duly appreciate if you left me to my business in dealing with the female." Again, he opened his mouth and leaned forward, but unlike before, he immediately lunged forward to Dani.

The girl screamed and curled into herself, expecting for very sharp teeth to suddenly clamp down onto her flesh. When that didn't happen, she opened her eyes warily.

Danny, having shifted forms, was holding the fox back, keeping its mouth open with both of his hands, having effectively stopped it from getting any closer to Dani. "Geez, dude," Danny grunted, struggling with the large animal, "you really need a breath mint. Your breath _reaks_!"

The fox made a very threatening noise at the back of his throat and tried to seal his jaw, making Danny grunt again. His body glowed a brighter shade of white, and his tail seemed to explode, the fiery fur lapping dangerously and growing. The fox's small orange eyes lost their previous color and began to gleam a sharp crimson.

"Wha...?" Danny started to ask, but the fox snapped its head to the side roughly, throwing the boy off of him.

"Insolence!" the animal howled, glowing like a living fireball. "Is the sophistication of life so lost to you humans and human-like ghosts? You will pay! You will understand! Your ill ways of life shall die away with all that which you call _humanity_!"

Danny tried to get himself back up from the work table he'd crashed into. "Now, wait a minute here_—_"

"There is no longer time to wait, ghost child," the fox snarled. "This world_—_this human, flawed _world__—_shall be mine, and I shall _make_ it mine!"

"I don't think so!" a new voice suddenly cried. The ghost whirled around in time to see one forgotten Sam Manson holding a Fenton Bazooka over her shoulder, her finger already on the trigger. "Get ready for a one-way trip back to the Ghost Zone!" she shouted and fired.

It should've been impossible for the fox to dodge such a well-aimed, close-range attack, but his body was no longer purely corporeal. Like lightning_—_almost literally_—_he scattered to the right, letting the blast explode behind him. With a roar, he aimed straight for the human girl. "How dare you!"

"Sam!" Danny cried out, finally managing to lift himself up from the rubble. He flew towards her...

But it was too late. Sam shrieked as the fox bit into her leg, tearing away at the colored fabric and flesh_—_yet, somehow, no blood poured out of the non-existent wound. The animal unclasped its jaw, revealing an angry black circle set firmly on her thigh. Sam tried to muffle the sound of her screams, cursing instead and clutching at her leg. Then, the wound began to glow the same fiery color as the fox, and it wasn't long before it encircled the still-cursing girl completely.

"Sam!" Danny shouted, then immediately swiveled on the ghostly fox, who was laughing softly to himself above the scene. Danny felt his eyes flash with his anger, and he summoned a large amount of burning green energy into his hands. "What did you _do_ to her?" he demanded angrily.

The fox grinned, his laughter dying away. "I've simply..._enlightened_ her existence." His fire-tail whipped to the side. "As I shall do to the entire world." In another move like lightning, he leaped higher into the air and shot towards Danny.

The half-ghost managed to dodge the first attack, shooting his built-up energy at the animal, but he wasn't fast enough to completely evade the ghost's snapping jaw on the rebound. It nipped at him, tearing at the side of his suit and leaving behind an ebony mark. Danny hissed, falling to the ground and grabbing at his side.

Then, just like with Sam, the dark mark began to shine a pearly, too-bright white. It was as if a star had gone supernova right next to him. Fire burned at his flesh, singing deeper into his skin, eating away at everything it touched_—_flesh, sinew, bone, blood, ectoplasm_—_until he felt the embers competing with his core somewhere in his chest.

He didn't realize he was screaming until the sound turned into a strange sort of stuttering yip that caught in his throat. There was pain everywhere, a bright sort of blinding agony, and Danny was strangely reminded of the accident that had changed his life forever. He felt himself become something different, something that was weird and foreign and completely un-human.

When the fires finally died away, taking with them all the pain, Danny didn't know how much time had passed. He struggled to open his eyes and get his body working again, but nothing felt right. His limbs weren't where they should've been. The world was too bright and sharp. It was as if he'd taken a sudden spin on the Tilt-o-Whirl and then been held upside-down at a dizzying height.

_Hurts. Can't get up. Leg. Pain._

Danny immediately shot up. His ears twitched at the side of his head, recognizing the voice, and his eyes landed on a black shadow next to his parent's ghost-containment field. For a second, he hesitated, wondering if that darn fox would appear out of nowhere and try to attack again. When he didn't see any strange glow or have his ghost sense go off, he pressed forward.

And then came to an abrupt stop.

_No way_, he thought to himself, eyes widening. _No stinkin' way._

All the same, he stiffly looked down at himself_—_and then yelped in surprise.

He'd been right before. _Nothing_ was right. Gone were his human limbs and flesh. In their place was only black, matted fur with spots of white and paws_—_paws without opposable thumbs.

Danny groaned, but the only sound that came out of his mouth was a low, throaty noise. Now he knew why he was reminded so much of his transformation during the pain fiasco a few minutes before. He _had_ transformed_—_just not into something he was used to or really much liked.

That stupid fox had bitten him and turned _him_ into a fox. Great.

_Werewolf much?_ Danny thought to himself sarcastically, muttering under his breath_—_which apparently translated into blowing out puffs of air from his mouth and making those weird throat sounds again.

Shaking his head, he looked up. He immediately wished he hadn't.

The lab was a mess, papers, schematics, broken inventions, chairs, and tables littering the metal floor. The overhead lights were either off or shattered, leaving only the Ghost Zone's swirling green vortex to light the broken room. But once he got over just how much trouble he would be in when his parents saw the lab, Danny looked more closely and spotted a new horror.

There were three large shadows also on the floor with all the mess. Except they weren't shadows at all. They were three different foxes, all unmoving clumps of fur, one pure black, another dark brown, and the last colored just like him except tinier.

Sam, Tucker, and Dani.

Inhaling sharply, Danny suddenly remembered something that damned fox had said. _"I've simply enlightened her existence, as I shall do to the entire world."_

Entire world...

Danny made a sharp yipping noise that sounded an awful lot like an expletive.

* * *

_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinemas._  
**_~Plotted and Requested by _Little Fox in the Stars_.~_**  
_Review._


	21. Absent

_A/N: HEY, GUYS! Lookie here! Original work! No more requests for this girl, no siree. It was a blast to write other people's ideas, but my own stories feel abused and neglected. Like this one here!_

_Everyone's done a version of this (and I've hinted at it before), but I actually liked how this one-shot turned out. Besides, I didn't have time to write a quality anything before the year ended, so you get something that's been sitting on my dash for a while now. But I like it (might even continue it—eventually) and can only hope it makes a good comeback. :3_

_As always, review, review, and REVIEW. Oh, and Happy 2012!_

* * *

_"Where love rules, there is no will to power; and where power predominates, there love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other."_  
_**~Carl Jung**_

* * *

** Absent  
**

* * *

His brisk pace continued, his heels softly padding against the floor. The sharp contrast of Dani's heels _clack_ing behind him served him well, making the guards slightly flinch before turning their heads away fearfully. As always, as when he was in the Ghost Zone, he let no emotion cross his face, his lips in a tight line.

When they reached the door of their destination, Danny glanced at the two ghosts guarding it, indicating with a flick of his wrist for them to open it.

They nodded, and one turned to unlock the shielded, anti-human and -ghost door with a glowing key, which looked more like a complicated invention than the key it was. The bolt disconnected with a loud _thud_, and both guards gestured widely into the room's recesses. "Your Majesty," they both said respectfully, bowing at the waist.

Danny barely acknowledged them. He walked into the darkness without preamble, Dani following obediently a step behind.

The dungeon was lighted only at the end corners by two torches, both flickering weakly with a green, spectral fire. At first glance, it appeared the room was empty, but then chains rattled, and an exhausted white glow drew their attention. The prisoner eyed his regular visitors with wary, red eyes, his body an unrecognizable black lump on the floor.

"Have you reached a decision?" Danny asked, as the door behind him closed.

The crimson eyes narrowed, and the captive hissed. "Yeah, I _have_," he spat.

Danny didn't even blink. "And what is that?"

"Yes."

Danny almost smirked, amused. "Yes, what?" he prompted.

The figure growled. "You're going to make me _say_ it, _aren't_ you?" At the silence he received, he huffed, crossing his arms, making some of his black-and-white suit visible in the ghostly light. "Fine. Yes, I'll—" he had to force the word out "—_work_ with you."

"Was that so hard?" Danny asked jovially.

"Harder than pulling teeth."

Danny barked a laugh, but then quickly subdued himself and turned to his female clone. "Dani, I must commend you," he congratulated her. "I didn't think you'd get him to be submissive in under a month."

Dani laughed lowly. "You'd be surprised what a little" —her eyes flickered to the crumpled form on the floor, and she was satisfied when he flinched away from her reflexively— "_physical encouragement_ can do." She grinned.

"Very true," Danny agreed with a nod. He pulled a key from his back pocket and started to walk towards his prisoner.

"What are you doing?" the captive asked distrustfully, scooting back slightly.

"Releasing you from your chains," Danny replied easily. "If you're going to work with me now, then I can't have you in the dungeon, now can I?"

The figure stayed silent, watching as Danny pressed the key to the mechanical chains that bound his hands and feet. Slowly, each of his limbs were freed from their constrictive hold. A smile started to spread across his lips, a wild gleam in his eyes. "Big mistake." He jumped up, curling his hands around Danny's neck, and in the process revealing his full form into the light—cape, insignia, flaming hair, and all.

Danny didn't struggle, merely stared into Dan's maniacal red gaze with his own calm, blue one. Without truly thinking about it, his neck constricted against the hold, shrinking in on itself, allowing air to continue to pass into his lungs harmlessly. His chest fell and rose steadily, not at all hindered by the attempted asphyxiation. "Are you done yet?" he asked conversationally after a long beat, not choked in the least.

Dan Phantom—a colorful array of bruises on his face and body—gasped, his hands flying from Danny's neck. "How—?" He couldn't finish the question, though, as a powerful punch to his nose sent him sprawling into the concrete wall of his prison, making his head smack against it, disorienting him in a flash of pain.

Danny wiped his fist on his shirt, quirking an eyebrow. "You seriously don't believe that during your ten years in that blasted thermos I didn't improve, did you?" He shook his head, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling. "I thought you'd be smarter than that."

Dan growled, an instinct reaction to being talked down to.

Danny moved to fix his ruined shirt collar, flicking the cloth. "I see you were not all that serious about our partnership," he said in boredom, sighing. "Such a shame. It'd make my plans so much easier." He looked up at Dani, who had stood, stoic, throughout the short struggle. "Schedule an extermination date, will you?"

Dani nodded, taking out the clipboard from behind her back. She clicked her pen and scribbled something. "Right-o, Danny."

Dan's eyes narrowed. "Extermination?"

The half-ghost glanced down at his alternate self. He nodded. "Extermination," he confirmed. "We can't have two of me running around, not when the other might hinder my conquest. You don't have much of a conscious—obviously—and you're definitely more twisted and apt to killing than I am; but you might interfere anyway." He shrugged. "Can't take the chance."

As Danny turned on his heel, Dan suddenly flew up, aiming to tackle him onto the floor. All he tackled was air, though, and he hit the floor painfully. Immediately, he rolled onto his back and jumped up, landing in a fighting crouch as he looked around. "Where did you—?"

A voice breathed harshly behind him, making his neck prickle, "Don't try that again—"

Dan spun around instantly, shooting a flaming ecto-blast with an extended hand. It hit the wall. Nothing was there.

"—or I'll make sure your death is _not_ swift or merciful," Danny finished. He took Dan's shoulder, flinging him up and crashing him to the stone floor in the same move, a heavy _crack_ sounding out as he did so. His foot pressed against the familiar symbol, crushing Dan's chest as ice started to form, making the ghost gasp for breath and shudder.

Danny leaned down, his eyes flashing dangerously. "You can't stop me, Dan," he said to the full-ghost. "Maybe, so many years ago, you could beat me to a pulp, but not anymore." He shoved his foot deeper, making the ghost wheeze as the glowing ice started to encircle his entire torso. "How does it feel—to know that even when you win, you still lose?"

The ghost cried out in pain, trying to push himself up, but failing as the ice started to restrict his limbs. He tried to phase through it, only to find it was impossible.

"Because you were right, in a sense," Danny continued. "I didn't turn into you—not completely. Vlad's death, and my keeping my human half ensured that. But you were still right."

It wasn't necessary—Dan knew it wasn't—but he found himself gasping for air, shivering violently as the ice made his limbs numb.

"The death of everyone I loved _did_ drive me over the edge." Danny's voice had grown quieter, solemn, and the ice stopped trying to cocoon his enemy. "You ensured that—when you came back the second time, when you escaped from the thermos—that they would all die... And that I wouldn't be able to stop it.

"You were right. I did want to lose my humanity. I wanted to give it all up, and just _die_." He chuckled darkly, and the sound seemed to echo hauntingly against the damp walls of the dungeon. "But I found out, humans can be just as cruel as ghosts, if not more. Humans can push aside emotion, can completely ignore it, and settle their focus on other things.

"So I snapped. Without anything to live for, I decided, why not take all I wanted? Why not _revel_ in the power I knew I had?" He shook his head, and a parody of a smile played on his lips. "But that would have been stupid, would have ended me up on the same path _you_ were on."

Dan growled, but it sounded pathetic, more like a weakened groan than a growl.

Danny looked down, an eyebrow quirking up. He removed his foot from the ghost's chest, though he continued to stare down at Dan. Finally, blankly, he said without emotion, his voice rising from the soft tone it had taken, "You can't beat me. That's a fact." He turned on his heel again and started to walk out. "I'll come back tomorrow, to see if you take the offer of my partnership far more seriously. If you do not, your execution date is set."

"You can't kill a ghost," Dan disagreed vehemently, struggling under his cocoon. It cracked slightly, but not by much, still holding firm.

Danny paused, before turning his head to glance down at the alternate future that never was. "A ghost can't kill a ghost," he stated matter-of-factly. "A human can't kill a ghost." A sickening smile found its way onto his face. "But _I_ can kill a ghost."

"That's impossible!"

Danny turned back around. "Believe what you wish. Your execution is still set if you do not agree to my plans. The ice will hold until tomorrow, when I will come back and expect a serious answer."

"You want a serious answer? It's no! Never! The moment I start to do somebody else's dirty work is the day I—!"

But Danny and his clone had already gone out of the room, the impenetrable door closing with the same loud _thud_ it had opened. The bolt connected, and Dan was left alone yet again.

"Your Majesty," the door guards greeted again when Danny emerged from the dungeon room, bowing the same way they had before.

Danny merely shook a hand at them, attempting to get the creases out of the cuffs of his suit. Satisfied with another flick of the cloth, he continued on his way, his heels padding yet again. "I will be in the War Room," he informed Dani, who nodded briskly at the subtle order and promptly left him alone, walking off to another part of the castle.

With that, the orphaned half-ghost—High King of All the Undead—stalked off to further review his plans to take over the human realm. After all, the Ghost King who wasn't fully ghost would never be satisfied with what he had, not when what all he truly wanted was already completely gone.

* * *

_A Danny Phantom motion picture by Sundae Cinema._

* * *

_Review._


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